


The Things We Owe to Alcohol

by Poulman021



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brainwashing, M/M, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poulman021/pseuds/Poulman021
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things that last through two centuries, all thanks to the magic of alcohol. So Stucky starting from the beginning of their relationship before the war. Then some of their relationship through the war and some after Cap's pulled out of the ice and is part of the Avengers. Includes scenes from the first Captain America movie and probs CA:TWS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve never liked alcohol. He also hated getting drunk. For starters, he loathed the taste of alcohol; he could hardly get through a whole sip without gagging. Not only was the taste horrendous, but Steve was unusually small for his age. He was thin  and sickly. It made him a complete lightweight, and then the next mornings were terrible. Steve also had a dislike of alcohol because he hated seeing Bucky drunk. Luckily, it didn't happen a lot. Steve and Bucky, having been best friends since they were kids, shared an apartment. Since Steve was often sick--especially in the winter months—he had  trouble holding a job. Bucky was the one who worked full time at the docks and barely managed to scrape together enough money to pay rent for their dingy little apartment. Because of their poverty, Bucky rarely got drunk. He went out to clubs every  weekend, but usually just danced with pretty blond dames who were small and thin (he had a type).

Occasionally though, Bucky would come home drunk. On those nights, Bucky came home later than usual because he had spent the night God knows where with aforementioned pretty blondes. Steve hated those nights because Bucky would crawl into their shared bed, sliding  in right behind Steve and wrapping his arms around him, smelling of booze and sex and sweat. Steve told himself that he hated it because he would never be charming enough to be able to just dance with pretty dames and maybe, someday, get more  involved with one.

Steve was currently waiting on their cheap sofa in the middle of their apartment, sketchbook in hand. Normally he didn't wait up for Bucky this late, but he wasn't tired because he had a drawing idea in mind; he was always restless until he got his ideas  onto paper. Steve sat curled up on the couch as he lightly outlined Bucky's jaw. This was one of Steve's many drawings of Bucky--and also one of the many he was going to throw away in fear of his best friend ever finding it.

It was just past midnight and Steve had just finished his drawing when Bucky stumbled through the front door. Steve quickly shut his sketchbook as he looked up to see his friend clumsily taking off his shoes. Bucky stood up and gave Steve a salute in greeting  before slurring, "Why the hell you still up, punk?"

"Just drawing." Steve mumbled when Bucky sat next to him on the couch. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol enveloping Bucky. "You're also home earlier than usual."

"Yeah well I didn't feel like fucking one of the two pretty dames on the dance floor with me." Bucky's head lolled back as he stared at the ceiling with a glazed look.

"Buck! Language! You shouldn't talk about women like that! Talk like that doesn't make you any better than those crumbs I take on all the time."

"Take on? Steve, I'm always saving your ass from those jerks pummeling you to a pulp!" Steve's modest glare was enough to make Bucky bite his tongue and instantly string apologies--for his comment on dames and on Steve's constant beatings before he mumbled, "See, there's a reason you always call me a jerk."

Steve's gaze instantly softened and he lightly responded, "I don't really think you're like those other jerks."

"Good. I don't think I'd be able to handle it if you did think that."

Realizing what he said, Bucky turned his head away and bit his tongue. Steve also turned a subtle shade of red and an awkward silence settled between them.

Suddenly, Bucky turned to face Steve, a steely look in his eyes. Steve gently placed his sketchbook on the coffee table, sitting up straight to try and meet Bucky's height. He stared at his best friend expectantly, thinking he had straightened to  tell him something important. Did Bucky get fired from his job? Did he finally get a girl pregnant? Or worst of all, was he moving out because he'd figured out Steve's secret?

All of these thoughts were racing through Steve's mind until they were abruptly stopped by Bucky leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve's. At first, Steve went completely still--utterly surprised and convinced he had actually fallen asleep while sketching and was dreaming. But then Bucky put a hand behind Steve's neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Only then did Steve close his  eyes and return the kiss. Steve wasn't entirely sure where to put his hands, so he settled for placing them on both sides of Bucky's face.

Eventually they both had to pull away to catch their breaths. Bucky licked his lips, now swollen and bright red, and glanced up at Steve. Steve's cheeks were flushed and he was staring at Bucky with a mix of confusion, adoration, and fear. In response, Bucky  gave his best friend a drunken grin. "I'm gonna hit the hay." He slurred before shuffling off to bed. 

Several confused minutes later, Steve crawled into bed, too.

* * *

When Steve awoke the next morning, Bucky wasn't in bed. It struck him as unusual; Steve almost always got up before Bucky--especially after nights when Bucky came home drunk. He sat in bed a few extra minutes, staring at the ceiling as he recalled the night  before. Bucky had kissed him. Steve dared to hope that the feelings he felt for his best friend were reciprocated. That maybe, this whole time, Bucky had also hoped that their friendship could be more than just a friendship. That yeah, they both  liked dames, but they also liked each other, too.

Fearing he'd have an asthma attack from overthinking his feelings (it wouldn't be the first time), Steve took a few deep breaths. Finally, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way into their living room/kitchen.

Bucky had a cup of dark coffee in his hands. To avoid looking at Steve, Bucky stared intensely at the center of his coffee. Trying to act like nothing had happened, Steve breezed past Bucky to make his own cup of coffee. While his coffee brewed he sat across  the table from Bucky, also avoiding making eye contact. Was Bucky too drunk to remember what had happened the night before? Was Bucky just as nervous and scared as he was?

Steve was snapped out of his thoughts when Bucky cleared his throat. Bucky still didn't look up from his coffee, but said, "I'm not a queer. Whatever happened last night was just a mistake. Nothing more." Steve felt his heart shatter and his shoulders sag.  Before Steve could "agree" with him, Bucky stood up suddenly and mumbled, "I need to shower and get to work."

Once Steve heard the sound of running water, he jumped up from the kitchen table. Snatching his sketchbook off the coffee table, he flipped through to the page where he drew Bucky the previous night. He ripped the page from the sketchbook and continued to  rip the page to shreds. After throwing the pieces away in the trash, he poured the rest of his coffee over it.

* * *

After that night, Bucky didn't sleep with his arms around Steve. He slept facing the opposite direction. The two hardly spoke--much less looked at each other. Bucky went out more often at night to the club. He never spent too much money drinking, but he  started bringing girls home almost all the time. Back then, most of Bucky's nights had ended in sex with random dames, but he rarely ever brought them back to the apartment out of respect for Steve. But now... Now Bucky brought dames back almost every time. If Steve was awake and on the couch when Bucky and his new dish got back, Bucky would lead them away to the bedroom. If Steve was already asleep in bed, he would soon be awakened by the sound of his best friend and some dame going at it on the  couch.

* * *

Bucky was angry. He was angry at himself for giving into temptation. He'd thought of kissing Steve thousands of times before, but he'd always dismissed those ideas as exhaustion from long days at work or not enough sleep the night before. Bucky wasn't a  fairy. He liked girls--he liked the way they looked; the way they batted their eyelashes and giggled when he charmed them; the way they felt when he was inside them. Sometimes he tried to convince himself that he only looked at Steve with longing  because Steve was small and thin and pretty like most of the dames he slept with. But it was different with Steve: when it came to him, he felt more than just physical need. Sure, he'd fallen for a dame before--years ago--but the only person he really had eyes for nowadays was his best friend.

But Bucky wouldn't accept those feelings. People were beaten to death for thinking about other guys that way. And what kind of freak loved dames and guys? Bucky had never heard of that. So after Bucky had come home drunk and kissed Steve, he tried  to forget about it and push down those feelings. He started bringing dames home more often and fucking them as loud as he could to prove to himself and to Steve that he was only into dames and nothing else. Only it didn't work. No matter what wolfess  he brought home, no matter what they did or how loud they were, he only saw Steve when he was with them. Bucky wasn't thinking about how great it felt to be inside a pretty dame, but how great it would feel to be inside Steve. Or even worse, how  great it would feel to have Steve inside of him.

Bucky ignored these thoughts as he made his way into the club. He didn't feel like cutting a rug just yet so he sat up at the bar--even though he didn't have enough money to buy a drink. A pretty blonde with a thin waist sat a few seats down from him. She was  just getting up to go to the dance floor when Bucky caught her eye and gave her a wink. Blushing and trying to suppress a giggle, she made her way to the dance floor. Instead of pursuing her, Bucky stayed at the bar.

A few songs later, a beer was placed down in front of Bucky by the bartender. "I didn't order this," Bucky gestured at the drink with a frown.

"No, but the fella over there did." The bartender gestured to a guy leaning against the bar counter. Bucky turned to look and the guy merely gave a small shrug and smile. The guy was around Bucky's height and size and had a face that could charm the pants  off any dame just like Bucky could.

Annoyed, Bucky stood up from his seat without so much as touching the drink and marched up to the guy. "I'm not some fucking fairy." Bucky spat in a low voice just loud enough over the music.

"Never said you were."

"Then what's the big idea, buying me a drink?"

The man shrugged. "Looks like you needed it. And you sure as hell weren't dancing with any dames." He shrugged again before giving Bucky a mischievous smile. "I figured you either just got out of a nasty divorce, or you're in love with a man."

Bucky's jaw fell open at the stranger's bold words. Furious, Bucky grabbed the man by the collar, getting ready to throw a punch. Only he didn't when a small voice in his head--one that sounded an awful lot like Steve--spoke of reason and kindness. Bucky  growled before not-so-gently letting the other man go by shoving him back. Without looking to see if anyone saw the whole scenario, Bucky spun on his heel to leave, practically sprinting home.

 

Steve was sitting on the couch, sketching, just like he had been that night a few weeks ago. When the door shut behind Bucky, Steve glanced up. Confusion spread over his face as to why Bucky wasn't accompanied by a girl. He set his sketchbook down and  asked gently, "Buck, is everything alright?"

Kicking off his shoes, Bucky responded, "No, everything is not alright." He made his way over to the couch and sat down in front of Steve. "Steve, I'm sorry I've been acting like this. It wasn't fair to you. I need you. Always. I'm so sorry I've been  such a jerk."

And before Steve could get a word out, Bucky pressed his lips against Steve's. It was harsh and needy, and it took everything Steve had to push Bucky away. "Buck, are you drunk again? Because I don't want you to do something you'll regret again." Steve  said earnestly.

Shaking his head furiously, Bucky quickly got out, "I haven't had anything to drink tonight. I mean it, Stevie. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I said it was a mistake last time. You have no idea how much I've wanted this for so long." Bucky took a deep breath  and examined Steve's expression-which was currently impossible to read. "I mean, um, only if you feel the same way. Otherwise I can stop... And we can pretend this never happened. Or I can move out if you really want me to." Bucky rambled.

Panicking at the suggestion of Bucky moving out, Steve quickly grabbed the back of Bucky's neck and pulled him in for a desperate kiss. At first Bucky was astonished, but he quickly fell in line and kissed Steve back.

A few moments later they both pulled back to catch their breaths, Bucky starting to worry if Steve's asthma could handle this. "Buck, I love you." Steve whispered. Bucky looked up at his best friend with wide eyes. "I've been in love with you since we  were kids." Steve's eyes warily lifted to meet Bucky's gaze, gouging his friend's reaction to his confession.

Bucky gave Steve a small, slow kiss before pulling back. "I love you too, punk." They grinned at each other before lunging at one another again fervently. As things got more intense, Bucky scooped Steve up to carry him off to the bedroom (much to Steve's protest because he hated when Bucky reminded him how much stronger he was than Steve).

Knowing that their bed was too cheap and squeaky to get away with not tipping off the neighbors, they ripped the comforter off and set it on the floor. They were barely able to get each other's clothes off because of how locked their lips were.

Completely naked and lying underneath Bucky, Steve paused. "Buck, are you sure? I mean what about all the dames? I know you're not a fairy... I know you like girls."

"Yeah, I do like girls. But I fell in love with _you_." Bucky retorted before kissing down Steve's neck.

* * *

At some point in the night, they'd moved back up to the bed--with it being summer, they didn't actually need the comforter to keep them warm. Bucky was wrapped around Steve as usual, only this time they were both butt-naked and sticky with sweat and come  from the night before. Steve cracked his eyes open to see light filtering in through their tiny bedroom window. Out of habit, he glanced at their tiny alarm clock only to remember it was still broken and they still hadn’t replaced it due to lack of cash. He rubbed at his eyes groggily and rolled over in Bucky’s arms so he could look at his best friend’s sleeping face. Bucky’s hair was matted to his forehead from sweat. When he slept, he always wrinkled his nose, causing his eyebrows to pinch forward just like they did when he was trying to figure out a math problem. His lips were puckered like he was pouting as soft, even breaths pushed out between them. Steve thought he’d never looked more handsome.

Steve was pulled out of his daze when Bucky’s eyes slowly fluttered open and Steve blushed at having been caught in the act of watching his best friend sleeping. Bucky smirked—he always loved to make Steve blush—and pecked his beat-red friend right on the nose. “I always did wonder if you were looking at me like that all the time, or if I just had something on my face.” When Steve’s face grew even redder at Bucky’s words, Bucky cackled.

 Desperate to change the subject before his face melted off, Steve suggested, “How about some breakfast?”

 Bucky seemed to contemplate Steve’s offer before retorting, “It’s Saturday. We don’t have to get outta bed yet.” They both grinned at one another before smashing their still-swollen lips together.

 

 

A couple hours later, Steve and Bucky did get out of bed. The shower they took lasted much longer than it would normally—it lasted until the water turned ice cold, which definitely killed the mood for the time being. They normally didn’t put much effort into breakfast, but today seemed like a special occasion. Plus, they were both famished from their activities the night before and earlier that morning. While Steve prepared the eggs, Bucky dealt with the bread and their coffees. Bucky set the warm bread and coffee mugs on the table before coming up behind Steve and kissing him on the neck. He was pleased to feel the small shutter that passed through Steve when he sucked in a sharp breath. “Sit down, you mook; you’re going to make me mess up our breakfast.” Steve hissed; Bucky merely chuckled and sat patiently at the table.

 Steve brought over the eggs in a large bowl about a minute later. He sat across from Bucky, and for the first few minutes of their meal they just ate because of how hungry they both were. Bucky, being the one who ate like a horse, finished eating first as usual. He cleared his throat, causing Steve to stop eating and look up at him in slight fear. Did Bucky realize that last night was a mistake? Seeing Steve’s fear, Bucky immediately grabbed Steve’s hand, stroking Steve's knuckles with his thumb. “Hey, hey, hey, punk! Don’t look so terrified!” Steve took a deep breath to calm his nerves—and to prevent an asthma attack over nothing. Giving Bucky a small smile and a reassuring squeeze from his hand, Bucky returned the smile and squeeze before trying again, “I just wanted to say that this isn’t gonna be easy. You and me, I mean.” Steve nodded; he’d chosen to avoid thinking about that for the time being. “In our apartment we can do whatever we want… But out there it has to seem like nothing has changed. The guys at work go to the club with me all the time. I have a reputation as a skirt chaser to uphold. Can’t have them suspecting nothin’.” Steve frowned at the idea of Bucky still sleeping around with dames—some of it because it didn’t sit right with his modest self, and some of it because he felt a tinge of jealousy. Seeing Steve’s frown, Bucky quickly added, “No! Not like that, Stevie! I’m not gonna sleep around with dames any more! I just need it to appear like I’m still doing it so the guys at work don’t think I’m with a guy.” Steve let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

 “Yeah, that makes sense. I guess that also means we still have to go out on those terrible double dates.” Steve looked up as a momentary plea for God to send him strength to continue those stupid double dates that Bucky always dragged him on.

 Bucky nodded and said with a lighter tone, “C’mon, those ain’t so bad.”

 “Not for you, they’re not! You always end up with both girls by the end of the night!”

 “Not on purpose! I can’t help my natural charm!” Bucky complained. Steve was just about to protest again when Bucky added in a small voice, “It ain’t my fault all those dames were too stupid to see just how amazing you are.” Steve blushed crimson again before looking down at their entwined hands. A small smile crept on his face as he risked looking up at Bucky. Embarrassed, Bucky was avoiding Steve’s gaze. Steve had never seen Bucky beat red or so flustered. It made Steve’s heart flutter knowing he had that effect on his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve and Bucky had been going steady for about four months now. They’d just gotten through a rough winter where Steve got pneumonia—again—and had spent most of his time coughing up a lung until Bucky was able to come home from work and take care of him. Every weekend, Bucky went out with his buddies to the club. He spent those evenings knockin' it out with pretty dames, pretending to be interested and that he had plans to take them home or to a back alley that night. But he never did any of those things—he always cut the dame off as soon as his friends were gone or out of sight. Then he’d leave the club and when the guys at work asked about it the following Monday, he’d always make up some story about what him and the dame did. Once he’d leave the club, he would always hurry home to Steve. The moment he was through the door, he was apologizing to Steve and saying how much he missed him. Not five minutes through the door, and both of them would have their pants unzipped and their hands all over the other.

Bucky stopped going to the club as much when most of his friends from work were recruited and sent off to Europe to go fight in the war. Personally, Bucky didn’t really want to go fight—he wanted to stay home in good ol’ Brooklyn with his best guy. But he knew he couldn’t keep running from being drafted—not when he was a fit young man with a job that involved a lot of heavy lifting. Steve, on the other hand, had a strong sense of patriotism. Bucky knew that Steve was much too small and sickly to ever get into the military, but that didn’t stop Steve from trying. Neither did Bucky begging Steve to stop. It was something—really the only thing—they ever truly argued about. Bucky would beg Steve to stay home where it was safe, and Steve would always argue that he had to protect his country, same as any other guy. To Bucky, Steve’s frailness had never been off-putting like it was to everyone else. It was part of Steve’s beauty. Steve had always appreciated that Bucky treated him like everyone else; it was part of the reason Steve had fallen in love with Bucky. So it was always a touchy subject when Bucky tried to convince Steve that he’d die if he went off to fight in the war.

Bucky shook his head in frustration, deciding it wasn’t worth thinking about at the moment. He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, while Steve ran around the room getting ready for church. Even though Bucky grew up in an orphanage run by nuns, he’d never felt a religious pull. He didn’t much believe that there was a God. But Steve’s mom had raised her son to be religious, which was only further enforced when she had died and Steve landed in the same orphanage as Bucky. For Steve’s sake, Bucky attended Sunday mass with his best friend every week without fail. No matter how much he’d had to drink the night before (not that Bucky really had any reason to drink nowadays).

Steve had on his Sunday suit—his only sort of formal clothing—and threw Bucky’s dress shirt at him. “Buck, get out of bed and get dressed. We can’t be late!” Sighing, Bucky dragged himself out of bed. He slept naked—the way he’d preferred since he was a teenager—now that him and Steve were together. Steve tore his eyes away from the sight of Bucky and continued to busy himself with getting ready for church.

At church, Steve always elbowed Bucky if he fell asleep. It wasn’t because Steve wanted to push religion onto Bucky (he knew how Bucky felt about religion), but because he didn’t want Bucky to appear rude. They always walked home in silence, Steve clearly deep in thought about what was talked about during the service. When they got home, they never touched for the rest of the day. Bucky was okay with that—he knew Steve needed time to sort through how he felt about his religion being against him and Bucky being together. Sometimes he caught Steve praying to God for forgiveness and understanding. When Bucky asked Steve about how their feelings for each other conflicted with Steve’s religion, Steve replied thoughtfully, “I think God wants us to find love and happiness. I’m not so sure he really cares with whom we do it with, just as long as we’re happy.” Bucky liked the idea that, if there was a God, He was someone like that. So Bucky never complained about going to Sunday mass with Steve, and he always accompanied his best friend. He respected Steve’s wishes to not touch or kiss during most of Sunday. And he was always happy to jump right back into their usual rhythm the following Monday morning.

* * *

 

Underneath the newspaper in Bucky’s hand, there was a document. Bucky pulled the document out from underneath the newspaper and stared at it for what felt like hours. _107th Infantry Regiment_ , it read. He’d been drafted into the military and had returned from basic training about a week ago, and had just received orders to go get his uniform. It had taken Bucky a few days to gather up the courage to tell Steve when he’d first been drafted. The result was Steve trying even harder to get in. Tonight was Bucky’s last night before he was shipped off for Europe. For appearance’s sake, they had a double date tonight.

For whatever reason, it upset Bucky that his uniform fit perfectly. It upset him that he looked so damn good in it, because it told him that he was meant to be a soldier. After standing up straight and at attention for three months at basic training, Bucky let his shoulders sag now. He scuffed the ground with his fancy new military dress shoes on his walk home.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” Bucky heard someone say as he rounded a corner.

“I can do this all day.” Steve’s voice replied. Bucky groaned, knowing that Steve had gotten himself into yet another fight he can’t win. He took off toward the sound of their voices in a back alley.

Steve stood with his face slightly bloodied and his perfectly combed hair out of place. Furious, Bucky grabbed the other guy and beat him until he ran off. Still angry, he turned to Steve and said, “Sometimes, I think you like getting punched.”

“I had ‘em on the ropes.”

It was then that Bucky noticed Steve’s denied enlistment form on the ground. He picked it up to look it over. Nothing was different from what the other ones always said. _4F_. The form contained a list of all Steve’s health issues. “How many times is this?” Bucky asked, not really wanting to know the answer. "Oh you're from Paramus now? You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment form." He reminded Steve for the umpteenth time. "Seriously, Jersey?" Steve looked up then, seeing Bucky in uniform.

Ignoring the question, Steve asked one of his own, “Did you get your orders?”

“The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping for England first thing tomorrow.” Bucky could see the way Steve’s face dropped when he heard when his best friend was shipping out. It was too soon, Steve’s expression said.

“I should be going.” Steve mumbled.

“C’mon man! It’s my last night. Gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Why? Where are we going?” Steve wondered. Bucky hadn’t actually told Steve about the double date yet—he never did until last minute so that Steve couldn’t find a way to worm his way out of them.

“The future.” Bucky responded before handing his best guy the newspaper he’d tucked under his orders. The ad on the newspaper read _World Exposition of Tomorrow_. “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know, there’s three and a half million women here.” Bucky continued, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hell, I’d settle for just one.” He knew Steve was referring to him, but he couldn’t act on it in public.

The best he could do was reply, “Good thing I took care of that.” He snuck Steve a tiny smirk.

Hiding his smile, Steve decided to ask more about the double date, “What did you tell her about me?”

“Only the good stuff.”

Steve scoffed as they turned down a back alley. It was the middle of a weekday, so most people were at work. Bucky took Steve’s hand, causing Steve to flinch and nearly pull away because they weren't in the privacy of their apartment. “Hey,” Bucky said softly, and then again when Steve wouldn’t look at him, “Hey, Stevie, it doesn’t matter what they think. You’re with me. You already got _me_.” Steve nodded, squeezing Bucky’s hand in his as they continued down the dirty alleyway. Steve knew he had Bucky; the problem was he just didn’t know for how much longer.

* * *

That night at the fair on Coney Island, Steve wandered off from Bucky and their “dates”. As interesting as Howard Stark’s genius flying cars were, the fact was that his date wasn’t the least bit interested in him, and he hated seeing a girl pine over Bucky—much less two girls. He found himself standing in front of another recruitment center, imagining himself in the military uniform. “You really gonna do this again?” His best guy’s voice asked softly from behind him. He turned to see that Bucky had temporarily ditched their dates to find Steve.

Steve shrugged. “Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.”

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you. Worse, they’ll actually take you.”

Narrowing his eyes, Steve said, “Look, I know you don’t think I can do this—“

Cutting him off, Bucky exclaimed, “This isn’t a back alley, Steve! It’s war!” He hadn’t wanted to fight with Steve on his last night, but he also wanted Steve to be safe.

“I know it’s a war. You don’t have to tell me.”

Exasperated, Bucky asked like he had a billion times before, “Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs—“

“What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal…”

“Yes!” Bucky replied hotly, hoping that Steve would see the importance of that job and how he could still contribute to the fight by doing jobs like that.

“…in my little red wagon?” Steve finished.

“Why not?” Bucky didn't think it sounded so bad.

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky. Bucky, c’mon! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.” Steve’s blue eyes were big and earnest as he stared down Bucky.

“Right. Cause you got nothing to prove. Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” Bucky muttered that last part as he started walking back toward the girls.

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you." Steve retorted.

Bucky sighed and came back to give Steve a hug, "You're a punk."

“Jerk. Be careful.” Steve replied in a lighter tone before calling, “Don’t win the war ‘til I get there!”

Bucky returned to the girls, pretending that he was excited to be reunited with them again.

* * *

When Steve got back to the apartment that night, he decided not to tell Bucky about Dr. Erskine. He waited on the couch, just like he usually did back when Bucky went to the club, sketchbook in his lap. This time he was sketching Bucky in his new uniform because he couldn’t get out of his head how strapping his best guy looked in it. Steve turned his head to the soft sound of the door closing as Bucky walked in with a tired look. “Those two dames just wouldn’t take no for an answer. It must be the uniform, huh?”

Steve stood up, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s uniform and pulling him down into a kiss. Breaking away briefly he agreed, “Yeah, it’s definitely the uniform.” He pulled Bucky down for a kiss again and the two spent the next several minutes trying to get Bucky out of said uniform.

* * *

Bucky wouldn’t let Steve walk him down to the train station to see him off. “I don’t think I’d be able to get on without giving you one last goodbye kiss.” Steve could only nod in understanding. That morning they couldn’t go two minutes without kissing each other. But, finally, it was time for Bucky to leave. They kissed slowly and tenderly in front of the door. Bucky gave Steve one final hug before he stepped toward the door. “I love you, punk.”

“I love you, too, jerk. ‘Til the end of the line.” Steve replied.

“‘Til the end of the line.” Bucky agreed before stepping out of their apartment and heading off.


	3. Chapter 3

         Bucky’s hearing was still fuzzy in his left ear after the most recent air raid. Now he knew how Steve felt (Steve lost most of his hearing in one of his ears after being beaten senseless by a bully when they were kids). Right now Bucky and his fellow Commandos were pulled back from the front lines for the first time in weeks, granted a small break in England while they recuperated. They were in a small village—far from any cities and thus damage and debris—currently at a pub. The pub was busy with the locals and some of the people from the nearest city. Bucky and the rest of the Commandos were the only soldiers currently occupying the pub, which was getting them a lot of attention from all the English women. Dernier and Morita had sweethearts back home—and so did Bucky, technically—so they were caught up in their own conversation while the other men tried their hands at flirting with all the dames.

         Bucky wasn’t the least bit interested in getting some action from any English women that night—or any women that night—but he had appearances to uphold. He’d heard the stories of the ways the military treated queers—a dishonorable discharge would be lucky. He currently had a thin blond in his lap with blue eyes like Steve’s. She giggled constantly, her cheeks a soft pink as Bucky kept complimenting her and telling her “American” jokes. With her thick accent the dish in Bucky’s lap (had she said her name was Claire?) stood up and said, “I need to use the wash closet.” She patted Bucky’s cheek sweetly before she went off in the direction toward the rest room.

         Falsworth socked Bucky in the arm. “C’mon, Sarge. It ain’t fair for you to be hogging all the pretty ones when you got a sweetheart back home!” Dugan and Jones hollered in agreement.

         Bucky froze, turning his head from where he stared after Claire to look at Falsworth. “’Scuse me?” He asked with a raspy voice that cracked.

         “Oh, please, Sarge! Don’t try and hide it! We all know you look at that photo of yours every night before bed. We’re just upset that you never talked about her when the rest of us always shared our stories about dames.” Jones put in. Falsworth nodded in agreement, but Dugan stared at Bucky with what he feared was a knowing look.

         “Please,” Bucky scoffed. “I can’t hold a dame for more than one night.” He wasn’t lying, which made it that much easier to say as a cover.

         “Yeah, Sarge is right; that photo is probably one of him and his mama or somethin’” Dugan put in, coming to Bucky’s aid as always. Dugan was the best second-in-command Bucky could ever ask for. But that didn’t mean Bucky wasn’t terrified of what Dugan would do if he found out Bucky was into guys the same way he was into girls.

         Falsworth and Jones muttered some choice words under their breaths, but didn’t pursue the topic because two young women walked up to them.

 

         That night was the last night the men were on temporary leave before they were called back into action. Luckily, most of the men in his squadron were able to deal with more… primal urges that night before they shipped off again.

* * *

 

          Steve liked Peggy. She was one of the first girls to ever really listen to him talk and she didn’t just see a poor, weak punk from Brooklyn. They became good friends before the experiment, and became even better ones after. Peggy was the first girl that Steve had ever kissed. He felt bad, having these feelings for her—even if they weren’t quite as serious as the feelings he had for Bucky. But he liked being around Peggy, and she liked being around him. So it worked as a convenient cover for him to kiss her more than once, and for her to be a good friend and also a bit more than a friend. Being around Peggy helped to fill the hole in Steve’s chest where Bucky usually was. On the other hand, being with Peggy also tore Steve apart with guilt. He knew that Bucky would understand and be forgiving, but it didn’t change the fact that Steve missed Bucky terribly and felt like he was being unfaithful. Steve was torn between only thinking of Bucky, and keeping up appearances with a good friend, who could also be more than a friend.

         But Steve hadn’t seen Peggy in about two weeks; she was needed back in Europe along with Colonel Phillips. It actually had Steve feeling rather lonely during his USO tour. He wasn’t much a fan of Brandt and the men in charge of the show—nor were they ever not busy. The girls in the show with him were friendly enough, but that didn’t change the fact that he was still awful at talking to women. So all Steve could do was perform, and when he wasn’t defeating Hitler on the stage then he was sitting somewhere off to the side, sketching. Hidden in the middle of his sketchbook were his drawings of Bucky that he’d promised to himself he’d give to his best guy if—once—he saw him again. Sometimes Steve would pull out his faded picture of him and Bucky at Coney Island from a few summers back. Bucky had a similar picture of the two of them at Coney Island, only it was taken the following year (they got their picture taken every summer if they had enough money).

         Steve had just finished a show. After changing out of his ridiculous costume he was sitting just outside one of the tents, sketching parts of Brooklyn from memory. Tomorrow they were taking the tour to Europe. All of the showgirls had gone into town for the afternoon, so Steve was confused when he heard soft giggles and hushed whispers. With the serum, his hearing was well above average. Normally he would avoid eavesdropping out of respect, but currently he was so bored that he couldn’t help it.

         “Shh! What if someone hears us?”

         “Relax, Cathy, everyone went out for the evening. It’s just us.”

         “But how do you know that?” Cathy’s voice was laced with worry.

         “I just do.” The other girl giggled.

         Steve recognized the other voice as Lois. He had never really talked to any of the showgirls about more than just the show itself, but Cathy and Lois had always struck him as friendly. They were also inseparable. Cathy was tall and tan, with thick dark hair and hazel eyes. Lois was pale and on the shorter side, with the curliest brown hair Steve had ever seen.

         Steve considered giving them their privacy, and started to tune them out and return to sketching when he heard a loud crash. Immediately he set down his sketchbook and ran into the tent, afraid someone had been hurt. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay—” The scene in front of him stopped him in his tracks: Cathy was backed up against a stack of boxes with Lois pressed against her. They were kissing and Lois had one of her hands up Cathy’s shirt. The rest of their arms and legs were tangled together in a big mess. Steve vaguely noticed that the loud crash had come from one of the boxes near the stack they were up against had fallen.

         Immediately the two girls stopped and separated. Cathy’s eyes were wide with fear and Steve could actually see her shaking, despite the dim lighting in the tent. It was silent for a few seconds before Lois whispered, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

         Silence rang out for a few more moments while Steve looked between the two girls and they stared back at him. Steve sighed before he approached the two women. Cathy shrunk back, like she was expecting to get smacked, but Lois held her ground and glared at Steve. Steve got as close as he was comfortable to the two girls before checking behind him to make sure no one else had wandered into the tent. When he found that the three of them were still alone, he reached a shaky hand into one of his pockets. Slowly, he held out the photo of him and Bucky at Coney Island to the women. Lois took it gently from his hands and angled it so Cathy could see it, too. “That’s my best guy.” Steve whispered. Lois’ head snapped up to look at him in surprise, but Cathy just kept admiring the picture. Steve gave Lois a small reassuring smile and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t.” After a few moments Lois gave Steve a nod before glancing at the photo again.

Cathy handed it back to Steve with a smile. “So where’s he now?” She asked softly.

Steve shrugged, his shoulders sagging, “Somewhere in Europe fighting Nazis.”

Cathy’s eyes softened to a look of pity and sympathy for Steve. Lois finally looked Steve in the eye and said sincerely, “Well I hope you find him.”

Steve nodded. “I do, too.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky didn’t think there was any nobility in dying for your country. Once you’re dead, that’s it—you’re just dead. He didn’t feel this way going into the war, but he sure as hell did now. Him and the Commandos had been on the front lines for a while now—he had no idea how long any more—and they’d lost a few people along the way. Luckily, he still had his main guys he’d gone in with since the beginning. Currently they were on their way to the Alps to take down a HYDRA base. Bucky and his men were camped out around a fire, passing around whiskey to help warm them up and to forget the horrors they’d witnessed on the battlefield. They were all huddled up close together and as close to the fire as they could possibly get.

Dernier and Morita had out photos of their sweethearts and were passing them around for the other guys to see. Dugan—whom they’d recently nicknamed Dum Dum—was poking fun at them. He was on Bucky’s left, Falsworth on his right, while the other three sat on the other side of Falsworth. Bucky was staring into the flame, dozing off when Dugan passed him the whiskey. He took a few swigs before passing it on to Falsworth. The guys were laughing at something Dugan said about Morita’s sweetheart back home when Falsworth reached into one of Bucky’s pockets, teasing Bucky in a way that made his British accent more subtle, “I wanna look at this so called mama picture you’re hiding.” Panicked, Bucky grabbed Falsworth’s wrist to stop him from looking at the photo. Falsworth transferred the photo to his other hand, holding it out of Bucky’s reach. Bucky tried to lean over him to snatch the photo back, grimacing at the stench of alcohol in Falsworth’s breath, but was pushed back. “Going through all this trouble… Either your mama is ugly or this really is a picture of you and your sweetheart—” Falsworth stopped when he caught sight of the contents of the photo.

         Bucky sat back down, squaring his shoulders and waiting for a fight. The other guys had moved so they could also catch a glimpse of the photo, asking if the girl was really all that beautiful before they actually saw who was in the photo. Dugan was the only one who didn’t move to see. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore; his chest felt tight and he was pretty sure he was going to be sick. Falsworth was still staring at the photo in disbelief and the other guys were staring at Bucky except for Dugan, who was staring into the fire.

         Suddenly, Dernier turned to Jones and said in his thick French accent, “You owe me three cigarettes.”

         The rest of the men’s heads snapped to look at Dernier. “Ah, shit, man I don’t got that many on me right now!” Jones complained, reaching in one of his pockets and pulling out one cigarette before placing it in Dernier’s awaiting palm.

         “Wait, you two knew?” Morita asked incredulously.

         Jones shrugged and Dernier said, “No, I knew. He disagreed. So we made a bet.” Everyone—including Bucky—was still staring at Dernier with confusion. Bucky felt numb. “It is much more common than you think. And a bit more open in Europe.” Dernier explained and Falsworth nodded in agreement.

         “I knew, too.” Dugan spoke up, facing Bucky. Bucky just realized that none of his men had moved away from him in disgust. At least not yet.

         Bucky turned to look at Dugan, fear and confusion clear across his face. “How?” he asked in a shaky whisper.

         Dugan rolled his eyes. “I thought you weren’t that good at hiding it, but apparently you are.” He looked at the other men almost… with disappointment? He chuckled lightly, patting Bucky lightly on the arm—it was a friendly gesture he often did when he was teaching the other men something. “I saw how you checked out dames. And then I noticed that you looked at guys the same way.” He said these things as if they were the most casual topics in the world. Bucky could only stare with his mouth hanging open.

         The fear on Bucky’s face must have been pretty obvious, because Falsworth put his arm around Bucky and assured, “Don’t worry, Sarge! We don’t give a damn who you fuck!” The other guys cheered and Falsworth handed the photo back to Bucky with a smile. Bucky looked to his men one-by-one, and sure enough, they were all giving him reassuring nods and smiles.

         As quickly as the topic had come up, it changed again when Dugan started telling another joke. Just like Dugan to always come to Bucky’s rescue and to lighten the mood. Bucky gave Dugan a silent thank you when the rest of the guys were too busy laughing and Dugan smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

         It was cold. There wasn’t quite snow yet on the ground and during the day the skies were clear, but that didn’t change the fact that it was cold. Bucky could hardly feel his toes. Him and his team had run out of whiskey days ago, so the only warmth was the fire and each other. They were getting closer to the HYDRA base, which meant that two people had to stay on watch at all times. He and Dugan were the first shift, Dernier and Falsworth the second, and Morita and Jones the last. It was really only necessary for one person to be on guard, watching their small camp, but they were afraid that the person on watch would fall asleep. So really one person was on guard, and the other person was there to keep them awake.

         The best way to keep someone awake while sitting on guard was to talk. Since Bucky was always paired with Dugan, the two had come to know one another quite well. Bucky now knew that Dugan worked as a strongman in the circus because he came from a poor family. Him and Bucky often compared similar situations they’d both been in due to poverty. Dugan talked about what it was like being raised in his Irish family, while Bucky talked about having a younger sister named Rebecca and how he was separated from her in the orphanage. As it got colder, they talked more to keep their lips from going numb.

         They had been joking about how tiny and shitty their apartments back home were and then there was a break in conversation. A content silence settled between them before Dugan broke it with, “I’ve never heard of someone liking women _and_ men.” Bucky’s face paled. He had always felt self-conscious about it because he, too, had never heard of it outside of him and Steve. Dugan must have seen Bucky tense at the comment because he quickly added, “Relax, Sarge. I ain’t saying you’re a freak or nothin’.”

         Bucky bit his lip and muttered, “That’s how I feel sometimes. Feeling that way about dames and guys… it must make me some kind of freak who can’t get his feelings straight.”

         Dugan gave a light chuckle, softening the mood. “Nah, I don’t think it does.” He said lightly before continuing, “I think it just means you got a big heart is all. Big enough to have room for dames and men. Either that or your dick is just extra needy.” Bucky smacked Dugan on the side of the arm, which just resulted in Dugan busting up laughing.

         “Shut up before the Nazis hear you!” Bucky hissed in annoyance.

         Dugan muffled the rest of his chuckles into his jacket. When he was done he turned to meet Bucky’s scowl. “Really, Sarge, I don’t think you’re some kind of freak.” He smiled reassuringly at Bucky until he wore away Bucky’s glare. Dugan turned to look up at the night sky and asked, “What about your guy? Is he just queer? Or is he like you?”

         The question took Bucky aback. None of the guys had ever really asked about Steve, probably because they saw how uncomfortable it made Bucky. Bucky joined Dugan in staring up at the stars before answering, “He’s like me.”

         “How’d you meet ‘em?”

         “Uh… for the first couple years I was at the orphanage—after they took my sis away—I’d sneak out a lot. I didn’t do anything; just walked around Brooklyn. One day I came across these older boys beating on this scrawny kid. No matter how many times they put the kid down, the dumbass just kept getting back up. Normally I would keep to myself, but there was just something about this punk. So I stepped in to help him and got my ass whooped in the process.” Bucky smiled to himself as he remembered. “Instead of thanking me, the punk got mad at me for intervening. Said he ‘had ‘em on the ropes’. I was annoyed with his thick head and was about to go back to the orphanage when he asked if I wanted to come home with him for lunch. So I did. I met his mom, Sarah, who was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Had the biggest heart, too. After that day him and I were best friends ever since. When his mom died, he came to live in the same orphanage as me. At eighteen we got booted from the orphanage, so we decided to share an apartment.”

         Dugan listened patiently, occasionally glancing at Bucky to see that faraway look in his eyes as he recalled the past. “And…when did you two get together?”

         Bucky shrugged. Time had gone by differently since he started fighting in the war. “Maybe a year ago?” Dugan nodded. “Took me getting drunk to finally tell him how I felt.” A few moments of silence settled between them, then, “Hey, Dugan?”

         “Yeah, Sarge?”

         “Thanks.” Bucky was staring at the fire his men were sleeping around in the distance.

         “For what?”

         “Just… thanks.”

 

* * *

 

 

         That next morning was the Commandos last day to send any mail before they reached the HYDRA base. Two men who were in charge with delivering their letters had shown up at their camp and told them they had three hours to write any letters before they went back to mail them. Those same two men offered to be lookouts while the Commandos wrote letters to home. Dernier and Morita already had several letters addressed to their sweethearts back home and were working on another one. Falsworth was writing to his sister back in London and Jones to his mom. The men were all feverishly writing while Bucky and Dugan cleaned up after breakfast.

         “Hey, Sarge!” Morita called, gaining the attention from all the men. Bucky turned his head to look at Morita, showing he had his attention. “How come you never write home to your sweetheart?” Bucky glanced nervously behind him to make sure the two mailmen were out of earshot.

         “Guess I was always scared one of you guys would see.” Bucky responded with a small shrug.

         “Yeah, but that ain’t a problem now. So why don’t you write him a letter?” Jones suggested. The others voiced their agreement.

         Bucky shook his head. “Don’t they read this shit? You know, to make sure we ain’t spies passing messages?” He didn’t think his men would have a response to that. “Don’t you know what the military does to queers?” Bucky hadn’t meant for this to come out as a low growl.

         Dugan rolled his eyes, not buying it. “Then don’t make it all gushy and obvious, Sergeant Dumbass.”

         “Do two guys even talk all romantic and lovey-dovey to each other?” Morita asked. It was an innocent question, but it still earned a good glare from Bucky. Morita threw his hands up in surrender as a silent apology.

         Bucky sighed and reluctantly sat down beside the rest of his team. Dernier handed him a paper, pen, and envelope with a smile. After scribbling the address to their dingy apartment on the envelope, Bucky turned to the blank piece of paper. “Does anyone know the date?” He asked the others, but they all gave shrugs and shakes of their heads in response. Bucky grumbled under his breath before addressing the top of the page, _Dear Steve_. Feeling a hot breath ruffle his hair, Bucky glanced up to see his entire team surrounding him to look at his paper.

         “What?” Falsworth said innocently as they all took a step back. “You never told us his name!” he claimed, as if that justified their hovering. Bucky just gave him the glare that said “I will snipe you in your sleep” before returning to the letter.

         Bucky signed the bottom of the back page (he didn’t realize how much he had to tell Steve) with _I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, Bucky._ He quickly folded the paper and stuffed it into the envelope before the others could see any of what he’d written. Bucky’s face must have been red because Dugan had an eyebrow raised at him and a knowing smirk. Looking away heatedly, Bucky stood up and sealed the letter just in time for the two mailmen to return.

 

* * *

 

 

         Steve thought he’d be glad to finally be in Europe. He thought he’d feel closer to Bucky and to actually getting to fight in the war. What he hadn’t thought about was how much it would suck to perform the show for soldiers. They understood what it was like to fight real Nazis. What it felt like to kill people and to have friends killed. So Steve wasn’t that surprised when he found that the soldiers _hated_ him. No matter where in Europe the show traveled, all of the soldiers would request for the girls to come back on stage when Steve was giving his speech. He didn’t blame them.

         It was after yet another ruined show and Steve had just escaped to backstage. The showgirls were all shuffling past him to hurry and get back on stage to dance for the soldiers. Just like most times, Cathy and Lois remained back stage. They welcomed Steve back and Lois tried to assure, “It wasn’t that bad.” To show how much he disagreed with her, Steve merely held up his shield, which he had just used to block a thrown tomato.

         “You okay, Stevie?” Cathy asked in a small, kind voice.

         Steve nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just sick of this is all.”

         Since he discovered Cathy and Lois’ secret, he’d become good friends with them. The three spent their meal breaks together and any other free time talking. When the rest of the crew went into the nearest town for the evening, Steve would stand guard outside of whatever tent was empty while Cathy and Lois were inside spending quality alone time together. When the three of them were out of earshot from the other girls, Steve would ask them questions about how they’d met and managed to hide their relationship. In turn, they’d question him about Bucky. Turned out, Lois was like him and Bucky: she liked girls and guys. Cathy, on the other hand, was only doll dizzy. The two women lived in Manhattan and told Steve about the various queer bars they’d gone to. They even suggested that he and Bucky should go with them to one once the war was over. Steve liked the idea of that—liked the idea of being able to be with Bucky in public.

         Steve changed out of his uniform before the other showgirls got back from the stage (he felt comfortable enough to change in front of Cathy and Lois) before going out the back of the tent with his sketchbook. He was in the middle of sketching a picture of a monkey dancing on a tightrope when a presence behind him caught his attention. He turned, expecting Cathy or Lois, to find Peggy. Stunned, he nearly stuttered, “What are you doing here?”

         “Officially, I’m not here at all. That was quite a performance.”

         Steve tried to hide his embarrassment. “Yeah, uh… I had to improvise a little bit. Crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh… twelve.”

         “But I understand you’re America’s new hope?”

         “Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit.” Steve replied automatically. It was a fact he had heard over and over.

         “Is that Senator Brandt I hear?” Peggy said mockingly.

         “At least he’s got me doin’ this. Phillips would’ve had me stuck in a lab.” Steve retorted.

        Peggy didn’t seem convinced, “And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know.” Peggy looked at him calmly. “What?”

         “You know for the longest time I dreamt about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country. I finally get everything I wanted, and I’m wearing tights.” Steve replied with a frown deepening on his face. A car of soldiers pulled up behind them. “They look like they’ve been through hell.” Steve commented.

         “These men more than most.” Peggy supplied. “Schmidt sent out a force to Rosano. Two hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned. Your audience contained what was left of the one-oh-seventh. The rest were killed or captured.”

         Steve perked up at the mention of the one-oh-seventh. “The one-oh-seventh?” he asked in confirmation.

         Peggy could see how serious and concerned Steve’s expression had become. “What?” She asked before adding, “Do you have a friend in the one-oh-seventh?”

         Steve stared at her in a daze before nodding his head. “He’s a sergeant. Been friends since we were kids. I haven’t seen ‘em since he shipped off.” He was trying desperately to hide the tremble in his voice, but Peggy must have caught onto it.

         In a soft voice she whispered, “You must really care about him.” Steve didn’t want to read into what she was implying too much, so he just nodded again. “Colonel Phillips might know about your friend.” Peggy suggested, making her way towards Phillips’ tent. Steve followed with a determined look on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

         Bucky and his men were captured. During the day they were forced into labor, helping the Nazis build something that looked almost alien. At night they were stuffed back in their shared cell. The HYDRA guards liked beating on Bucky and his men. The worst had been when one of the guards caught Bucky looking at the photo of him and Steve. Not only had the guard snatched it away, but now the guards paid special attention to Bucky and called him names. It wasn’t anything Bucky couldn’t handle. But his men, on the other hand, wouldn’t stand for their commanding officer to be taunted like that. First chance he got, Dernier stole back the photo of Bucky and Steve. It had been during the day, while they were all slaving away. Naturally, the guard retaliated against Dernier, causing the rest of the Commandos to step in. They managed to drop that guard—which they considered a win—which resulted in all of them being beaten bloody and shoved back in their cell for the remainder of the day.

         Once the guards were far enough away, Dernier handed Bucky the photo that was now wrinkled and ripped around the edges. Bucky gave Dernier a grateful look, about to thank him immensely before Dernier cut him off, “You would’ve done the same for me.” Bucky could only nod in agreement.

         Bucky and his men thought that their beatings would be punishment enough, but they were wrong. That next morning, three guards stopped in front of their door. One of them opened the door and spat something in German.

         “Oh, I don’t like the sound of that.” Dugan murmured.

         “Faggot,” the guard that spoke broken English addressed Bucky, “Get out here. Now.” Falsworth and Jones stepped slightly in front of Bucky, ready to protect their leader.

         “And what if he don’t want to?” Morita sneered back.

         The guard that spoke English was standing back while the other two started to make their way into the cell. They pointed their guns at Morita and Dugan, fingers hovering over the triggers. “If you don’t come willingly, your entire team will suffer.”

         Bucky lightly placed his hands on the arms of Falsworth and Jones, lightly pushing them aside. He nodded to his men as he made his way to the front of the cell. The guards smirked before roughly grabbing his arms and dragging him out.

         “Oh shit; this isn’t good.” Dugan breathed when he realized where they were heading. The rest of the Commandos let out curses when they saw where the guards were taking their Sergeant. Bucky was being dragged toward the metal door in the corner. Randomly, the guards had taken men through that metal door, and all the Commandos knew was that once someone was taken through that door, they never came out.


	5. Chapter 5

         When Colonel Phillips suggested that Bucky might’ve died, Steve felt something inside him wither. It felt as if all the space and warmth that Bucky took up inside his chest had just shriveled up into something smaller than a pea. It was even worse now that Steve’s chest was much bigger than it used to be. He still felt a sort of dissonance with his new body—was still getting used to controlling his weight and avoiding bumping into things. A few times Steve had bumped his head on smaller doorways, forgetting that he went from being 5’4” to 6’2” in one day. He was still uncomfortable with all the new attention he was getting from everyone—so much so that he almost missed getting overlooked.

         Steve was worried about what Bucky would think when he saw Steve in this new body for the first time. It occurred to him that Bucky might not want him anymore. These thoughts had been plaguing his mind up until Peggy had mentioned the one-oh-seventh. Steve knew it was disrespectful and would get him in a shit ton of trouble to charge into Colonel Phillips’ tent the way he did, demanding to know what happened to his best friend when he had no authority to do so. But he didn’t much care. So what if he got in trouble? All that mattered was that Bucky was safe…

         But Bucky wasn’t safe, apparently. In fact, it sounded like he was probably dead. So Steve went numb. Behind his eyes were just images of Bucky: his cocky grin when he made Steve blush; the way his eyes darkened and his voice grew husky when they were on the comforter spread out on the floor; the exasperated look he got when he saved Steve’s ass from yet another fight; the way Bucky had looked at him hungrily, determined, and with longing that night when he came home drunk. When Phillips told Steve that there were no plans to save the men in the one-oh-seventh who had been captured, Steve felt a small spark swell in his chest. It was that feeling he got when he saw some bully picking on a dame or being disrespectful to others. It was that feeling that told him he had to intervene and do whatever he could to help. Steve welcomed that feeling as a distraction to his loss. He memorized the map on the wall in Phillips’ tent and left with a determined look on his face.

         Steve hated himself when he felt slightly thrilled that Agent Carter decided to accompany him to Austria for his suicide mission. He hated himself even more when he felt a pang of jealousy when Howard Stark tried flirting with Peggy. Steve felt sick to his stomach, and it wasn’t because he was in a small shaky plane on his way to take down Nazis. The plane shook violently when explosions started outside. Howard Stark steered the plane through them while Steve stood up, knowing that for their protection, it was better if he got off right then and there.

         “Get back here!” Peggy called after him. “We’re taking you all the way in!”

         “As soon as I’m clear, turn this thing around and get the hell outta here!” Steve shouted above the noise of the plane and the attacks coming from outside. He had opened the plane door and was sitting on the edge, preparing to jump out.

         “You can’t give me orders!” Peggy claimed, astonished and panicked that Steve was getting out of the plane in the middle of a warzone.

         “The hell I can’t!” Steve retorted above the noise, turning to look at Peggy one last time before he jumped out of the plane. “I’m a captain!” He pulled down his goggles and jumped, drawing his parachute once he was clear of all the enemy fire.

 

 

         Steve knocked the HYDRA guard out, who fell on top of the metal bars at the top of circular cell. The whole place was damp and musty. The serum heightened Steve’s senses, so he could smell the blood and sweat and death that enveloped the room that all of the prisoners of war were being held in. The fallen HYDRA guard caused the men in the cell below to look up. One of the soldiers, a sweaty dark-skinned man, asked, “Who are you supposed to be?”

         “I’m… Captain America.” Steve replied, trying to catch his breath.

         A man with an English accent said with confusion, “I… beg your pardon?”

         Steve managed to find his way down to the same level as the prisoners, using the keys he’d taken off the guard to open up the cells. After freeing everyone, Steve went up to the group from the first cell he’d freed and said to a burly man with a ridiculous red mustache, “I’m looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.”

         “There’s an isolation ward in the factory, but no one’s ever come back from it.” The same English man from before said. Little did Steve know that these men knew Bucky personally, and were only holding their tongues because they weren’t sure what Steve’s intentions toward their Sergeant were.

         “All right.” Steve responds, too wrapped up in the idea that Bucky might be okay— _Bucky might be alive_ —that he doesn’t bother to ask the prisoners questions or even say thank you to the Englishman who’d given him the information. He wasn’t so wrapped up as to not help the prisoners escape, though, “The tree line is northwest, eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give ‘em hell.” Steve commanded. This was technically Steve’s first time really doing anything as an actual soldier, but giving orders seemed so natural to him. He stopped to turn to the men—the Commandos, though he didn’t know it—to say one last thing before he took off to look for his best guy, “I’ll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find.” He couldn’t bear to say Bucky’s name.

         “Wait. You know what you’re doing?” One of the Commandos called to him in concern.

         “Yeah. I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times.” Steve offered as an explanation, not actually bothering to describe what he meant. The Commandos watched in confusion as Captain America left in the direction of that damn place behind the metal door.

 

* * *

 

 

         “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 32557. One hundred seventh Infantry Regiment. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 32557. One hundred seventh Infantry Regiment.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse from repeating this over and over for hours. His eyes were unseeing and his body was numb—so peacefully numb—to divert its attention to the injuries he’d sustained. Anything was better from that god-awful burning he’d felt since they’d first strapped him to that table. They’d first injected him all over his body, which hadn’t been so bad, but minutes later the pain started. The burning felt like molten lava had seeped through his muscles, pouring out into his blood vessels and pooling in his head, his chest, and his stomach. Going into that metal door, to the horrors behind it, Bucky had promised himself he wouldn’t scream. He would tough it out, show the Nazis that he wasn’t afraid and that they could not break him. Those ideas quickly vanished when the liquid of the injection had made its way to every last nerve, pinching and twisting and _burning._ Eventually, Bucky had passed out from the pain. When he’d awoken, the burning was gone except for a dull ache left behind that made all of his muscles feel like they’d been ripped into individual fibers. A small German man with round glasses and a balding head was standing beside the table, peering down at Bucky impassively, and asked for Bucky’s name. With a look of defiance, Bucky gave his rank, serial number, and association. It was clear that that wasn’t the answer the man wanted. The small man—Bucky thought he heard him addressed as Dr. Zola—motioned to the other scientists. Bucky’s head was put in a weird sort of helmet, and wires were attached to his body. Dr. Zola asked for Bucky’s name again, and before Bucky could finish saying his serial number, he was shocked by a sudden surge of electricity. It left Bucky feeling simultaneously on fire and numb. His thoughts were mush and his eyes wouldn’t focus. There was a ringing in his ears so terrible he thought he’d gone deaf, but then he heard Zola ask for his name again. Bucky grit his teeth, trying to remember how to use his tongue correctly before spitting out, “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—” and then another shock was delivered. This back and forth went on for hours until—

         “Bucky?”

         Bucky was sure he’d died and Steve was here to bring him to Heaven or Hell or whichever it may be. He hadn’t even realized that the shocking had stopped—that he’d been alone in the room for a while now. “Oh my God,” he heard Steve’s voice again and Bucky willed his eyes to focus, willed his mouth to stop moving and trying to repeat his name, rank, number, and association. What Bucky saw confused him: this wasn’t small and frail Steve. No, this was a mellow man slightly larger than Bucky, with bulky muscles and a strange outfit fitted with a helmet. But he had Steve’s face and voice. He had those same blue eyes that stared at Bucky with adoration, but also with fear and concern. Bucky thought that maybe this was the next type of torture—some chemical injected into him that made him hallucinate.

         The strange man with Steve’s face unstrapped Bucky from the table. “Is, is that…?” Bucky started to ask, not really aware that he was thinking out loud, but his thoughts were so jumbled that he didn’t even know he could really use other words outside of the ones he’d been repeating for hours. Maybe even days.

         “It’s me. It’s Steve.” The large man confirmed. Bucky wasn’t entirely convinced (he wasn’t even convinced that any of this was real) but he was so _so_ tired. All he wanted right now, all he’d wanted for months, was Steve. _His Steve._ And maybe the big guy helping him right now wasn’t exactly his Steve, but he was close enough.

         “Steve…Steve.” Bucky slurred, the corners of his mouth curling into a dazed smile.

         “C’mon,” Steve said, helping an out-of-it Bucky to his feet. Bucky said his name a few more times, as if trying to remember how it felt to say his name. After Steve got Bucky to his feet he held him up, looking him over to assess for any immediate injuries. Bucky was looking at Steve up and down, taking in the foreign body that had his best guy’s face and voice. “I thought you were dead.” Steve panted, shock and relief still combing his mind over the fact that Bucky was _alive_ and _breathing_ and _here._

         Confused, Bucky replied, “I thought you were smaller.” Steve wanted nothing more than to explain, but a sound behind him reminded him that they needed to hurry and get out. He glanced up in time to catch view of a map with targets pinned in certain places. He quickly memorized it before deciding to pull Bucky out.

         “C’mon,” he said as he dragged Bucky out of the room.

         “What happened to you?” Bucky wondered still dazed, but starting to get some clarity back.

         “I joined the Army.” Steve answered, hoping it would do for now.

         “Did it hurt?” Bucky asked, starting to walk on his own. He had no idea what was going on, but he was worried about whatever happened to Steve—if this was actually Steve.

         “A little.” Steve said distractedly, looking for their way out.

         “Is it permanent?” Bucky asked, slightly annoyed. He wanted his Steve back—the small one with bony shoulders and a concave stomach. The one he could pick up and protect. He’d been missing that small chest and delicate hands for months now. And now he was being told he might never get that version of Steve back? Bucky would always love what’s inside Steve more than what’s on the outside, but it didn’t change the fact that he thought Steve’s petite body was beautiful.

         “So far.” Steve replied, and Bucky’s shoulders sagged. He dutifully followed the new, larger Steve out of that hellhole.

 

* * *

 

 

         On the long trek back to the base set up far away from enemy lines, Steve and Bucky didn’t talk much. None of the former-prisoners did. Instead, everyone walked in a heavy silence, thinking through everything that’d happened all so quickly. The Commandos had been happy to see Bucky still alive, but gave him space when they saw the haunted look in his eyes. Bucky purposefully avoided thinking about his capture and torture. He ignored Zola’s face when it appeared behind his closed eyelids every time he blinked. Bucky was thinking about Steve and the changes to him. He was combing over what’d happened when they had come across Schmidt. At first Bucky was terrified to even consider the possibility that Steve had a face similar to Schmidt’s, but caught on from the conversation between them that Schmidt had been the original—and failed—experiment while Steve was the final product. Bucky was still trying to wrap his head around what Steve could do: how much stronger and faster he now was. It gave Bucky a dull sense of uselessness in the back of his throat. He had always been there to get Steve out of trouble with bullies and to take care of him when he got sick. But now Bucky wasn’t so sure how needed he was anymore.

         Steve—Captain America—led the front of men marching back to camp. Bucky stood right beside him with his Commandos falling behind, their eyes set on their Sergeant so as not to lose him again. When they made their way back into camp, Steve turned to Bucky with a grin, briefly grasping Bucky’s arm as if to say, “we made it, Buck”. Hesitantly, Bucky returned the smile.

         Colonel Phillips marched up to Steve with an unhappy look on his face. He was followed by a beautiful woman that Bucky had never seen before, but whom Steve clearly knew. When Phillips and Steve were done conversing, the woman walked right up to Steve, a predatory yet relieved look in her eyes, before saying in an English accent, “You’re late.”

         Bucky could see Steve’s cheek flush slightly. Could tell that Steve had some kind of interest in this dish. He felt a tinge of jealousy, but understood that Steve had probably been lonely during his absence. Bucky had always wanted for Steve to find a girl and settle down back before he’d admitted his feelings. Maybe it was right to let him still have that. It’s not like him and Bucky could ever get married. Or go on an actual date out in public. They could never go dancing outside of their apartment. Now that they were back at base and safe, Bucky wanted nothing more than to kiss Steve. After all, they hadn’t seen each other in months. But Bucky couldn’t do that. So maybe he should let Steve and this new dame live out whatever was clearly beginning between them.

         “I couldn’t call my ride.” Steve replied coolly, holding up a smashed device. And holy shit Steve could even talk—flirt!—with this woman.

         Bucky’s thoughts of letting Steve be with this new woman were quickly forgotten. Wanting to distract Steve and the woman from their conversation, Bucky shouted, “Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!” and everyone began to cheer in agreement. That got Steve to stop looking at her, though she kept looking hungrily at him and something boiled in Bucky.

 

* * *

 

 

         Steve was fitted with a new uniform, one that was decorated with medals and badges, and then immediately dragged into a debriefing meeting to explain to Colonel Phillips every detail he’d learned during his invasion of the HYDRA base. Having been up close and personal with Dr. Armin Zola, Bucky’s debriefing was up next. He waited outside for Steve, sitting quietly and still trying to process everything that’d happened when his team rolled up next to him. Dugan clapped Bucky on the back, smiling with gratitude that his Sergeant had made it. All of his men were smart enough to not bring up Zola’s experiments on Bucky. They were also smart enough to notice the way Bucky had been staring at Captain America all day. “Cap’s really something, isn’t he, Sarge?” Jones was clearly suggesting something by the way he asked with such a teasing tone.

         Bucky’s eyes snapped up to meet Jones’. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly before reaching inside his pocket to fish out his photo of him and Steve. He handed it to Jones before saying, “Cap’s real name is Steve.” His men stared in shock, connecting the dots.

         Confused expressions came over all their faces before Falsworth muttered, “I knew he looked familiar.”

         “But I thought your guy was small and scrawny.” Jones pointed out.

         “I did, too.” Bucky mumbled.

         Before they could discuss it any more, Steve came out, telling Bucky Colonel Phillips was ready to speak with him. With a tight nod, Bucky stood up and left his best guy with his friends.

         Steve felt uneasy with how Bucky’s teammates were looking at him. He shifted uncomfortably under their collective gaze.

         Dugan knew that their Sergeant would be furious at them for talking to Captain America about being queer, and he knew that at least to the Captain they were all complete strangers. So to ease the tension and appear as if he knew nothing, Dugan asked, “So, Cap, where ya from?”

 

* * *

 

After saving over a hundred men from capture, Steve had been given his own tent. He’d waited for Bucky to be dismissed from his debriefing before inviting him inside. The tent was small—meant for one to two people—but private enough. They stared at each for several moments, drinking in the sight of one another while they waited for the small group of soldiers outside to pass. Once they felt it was safe, they immediately had each other’s lips pressed against the other. Bucky was slightly disoriented by the fact that he had to tip his head _up_ to kiss Steve rather than down. Steve held his hands firmly at Bucky’s waist while Bucky’s hands explored Steve’s new body. His hands ran up and down Steve’s arms, back, and chest, taking in the new muscle mass. One hand lingered on Steve’s newly defined abs before inching lower. “I wonder what else has changed.” Bucky said breathily before slipping his hand into Steve’s uniform slacks. Steve tensed at the touch and Bucky gasped, pleasantly surprised at what he found had also changed.

Steve quickly grabbed Bucky’s hand before his body could react in the expected way. “Buck,” he breathed, already missing his touch as he pulled away, “We can’t do this here. Can’t risk gettin’ caught with each other’s hands down the other’s pants.” Bucky looked hurt, but after a second he nodded in agreement.

“So… what happened to you? Schmidt mentioned a Dr. Erskine?” Bucky changed the subject, mostly to calm down his rapid heartbeat and the heat that had been starting to build below the belt.

Steve scratched at the back of his neck—at least his old nervous habits didn’t disappear along with his scrawny-ness. His blue eyes were searching for an answer by looking anywhere but at Bucky. Blowing out a long breath, Steve finally explained, “Dr. Erskine got me into the army. I wasn’t great during basic training, but I guess I was the kind of person he wanted for his experiment to make a super soldier. The serum made me like this…” A sad look came over Steve’s face. “It was supposed to make a whole army of men like me, but a HYDRA spy killed Dr. Erskine and the formula with it. I stopped the spy, but the last sample of the serum got lost in the process.”

Steve’s eyes were far away. Bucky moved his hand to cup Steve’s cheek and whispered, “I missed you so damn much.”

Steve leaned down and kissed Bucky again, slowly and tenderly this time, before stepping back and saying, “I missed you, too, jerk.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve had decided to take on the Commandos as his team for Colonel Phillips, the Commandos insisted on Steve accompanying them to the pub. “Need to get better acquainted if we’re gonna watch each other’s backs on the battlefield.” Dugan had given as a reason for Steve to join them. Something deep inside Bucky was thrilled that his friends had latched onto Steve in such a friendly manner.

The guys were all sitting around a table, laughing their heads off as Bucky told them tales of him and Steve’s childhood, Steve having no idea that the Commandos already knew some stuff about Steve. Steve smiled to himself, staring down self-consciously at the alcohol in his hand. The other guys were howling with laughter while Steve sat a little off to the side, slightly uncomfortable. Dugan pulled his chair closer to Steve while the other guys were distracted with Bucky’s story. He didn’t say anything, so Steve decided to speak first, “I, uh, wanted to thank you. Bucky told me how amazing you were as his second-in-command. Thanks for having his back.” Dugan smiled at Steve politely, his eyes crinkling on the sides as he did so, before taking another sip of his drink.

He put it down with a sigh and wiped his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand. “And I want to thank you, Cap. For keeping Barnes in line all these years. From the way he talks about you, I bet he wouldn’t be half the man he is now if you hadn’t been in his life.” Steve felt his face redden slightly and tried to cover it with a cough. Dugan smirked before commenting, “I see now why he always says he loves makin’ you blush.” Steve stared in horror. Had Bucky really told Dugan about their relationship? Was Dugan okay with it?

Before he could think through any of what Dugan had just said and implied, Bucky called to him, “Hey, Steve. Can I talk to ya for minute?” Bucky nodded back toward the bar. Relieved, Steve stood up from the table and followed his best guy. Bucky sat at a stool and ordered another drink. As Steve came up behind him, Bucky said, “Told you. They’re all idiots.” He had a smug grin as he took a sip of the drink he’d just ordered.

“How ‘bout you? You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no.” Bucky groaned. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight… I’m following him.” Bucky looked up into Steve’s blue eyes, giving him his best shit-eating grin to try and show Steve how much he adored him without actually giving anything away to any eavesdroppers. In a quieter voice, Bucky asked, “But you’re keeping the outfit right?” He raised an eyebrow at Steve. Steve gave Bucky a small smile, a blush heating up his cheeks.

“You know what? It’s kind of growin’ on me.”


	6. Chapter 6

         Captain America and his Howling Commandos had made appearances all over Europe, taking down HYDRA bases one by one. During their most recent success, Morita had sustained an injury to his leg. It was nothing major, but enough to make him limp. Having taken out any Nazis nearby, the Commandos decided to stop at an old barn that had been abandoned probably when the Nazis first invaded. It was the first time they’d had a roof over their heads in months. The seven of them were all sitting outside the barn, heating up dinner over the fire. Jones was treating Morita’s leg, applying some alcohol from their small stash before wrapping it in gauze, causing Morita to hiss in discomfort. “I’m just glad it wasn’t your hands that got hurt,” Bucky called to Morita, “Because we need you to operate those fancy machines you’re always luggin’ around.”

         “I bet his sweetheart’s happy it wasn’t his hands, too!” hollered Dugan. They all bust up laughing, except for Morita who just glared at Dugan in annoyance.

         “Just ‘cause one leg's all beat up don’t mean I can’t use my other one to kick your ass, Dum Dum!” Morita shouted back aggressively but with a slight playfulness in his tone.

         Dugan laughed. “Don’t get bent all outta shape; I’m just messin’.”

         Falsworth took a look behind him at the barn. They had no plans to use it for a few more hours, which gave him an idea. He nudged Dugan, jerking his chin at the empty barn. Once Dugan understood, he raised his eyebrows and nodded. The others caught on quickly, all nodding in agreement. Bucky thought he had an idea of what was going on, and was terrified. Steve hadn’t a clue what all his men were nodding to each other about. He looked to Bucky for guidance, but Bucky was focused on his men, his stare angry and disbelieving. In the past several months Captain America had started leading the Howling Commandos, no one had mentioned anything about Steve and Bucky’s relationship. Steve wasn’t even aware that the Commandos knew anything about it. But his men sure did love dropping hints. One had been almost too obvious, causing Steve to panic later that day (in private, of course) to Bucky about his suspicions that the Commandos had caught on to them. Bucky hadn’t worked out a way to tell Steve yet that their men were okay with it—he was way too afraid that Steve would be furious with him for telling. So instead Bucky assured Steve that it was nothing; the guys were just playing. And when Steve had gone to scope the perimeter, Bucky reprimanded all of his men for teasing them so openly. The teasing hadn’t stopped, of course, but it became much less obvious.

         But now Bucky could tell by the mischievous looks his men were giving one another that this couldn’t be good. His jaw tightened as he tried glaring holes into his men’s skulls. It clearly didn’t work because Dugan smirked and suggested, “Hey, Sarge, Cap, why don’t you two go check out that barn?”

         Steve’s eyebrows scrunched forward in confusion. “But we already checked it out when we set up camp here…”

         “Well, yeah, but we were checking for Nazis. Maybe you two should make sure there are no animals in there. Make sure the barn is sturdy enough for all of us lugs.” Falsworth replied coolly. Bucky could hear the grin in his voice.

         “You’ll be doin’ us a favor.” Dugan added.

         “Whaddya mean?” Steve asked. Bucky was grateful that Steve had no idea what was going on.

         “I mean you’d be doin’ us a favor because ‘checking out’ that barn would make you two less tense.” Dugan growled impatiently. Steve’s eyes widened as he finally understood the reason behind the suggestion.

         Hastily, Steve started to respond with denial, “I—no—I think you have the wrong impression—” Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist and hauled him up just so he could get away from the awkwardness of the conversation. He was muttering curse words under his breath as he dragged Steve in the direction of the barn. “Buck! We—we can’t—” Steve started to protest.

         “Yes. We can.” Bucky growled.

         “Take your time checking over that barn!” Falsworth called after them, cackling.

         Bucky slid the barn door closed behind them before leaning back against it. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the rage he felt toward his team currently. Steve tried waiting patiently for Bucky to calm down, but he was panicking about what had just gone down. “Buck?” he tried quietly.

         Bucky opened his eyes to look at Steve; his head leaning back against the door. He shut his pale gray eyes, took a few more deep breaths, and then pushed himself up from where he’d been leaning. Taking Steve’s hands in his he said quietly, “They’ve known since well before you joined up as our leader.” Steve narrowed his eyes, waiting for Bucky to explain. Sighing, Bucky continued, “Dugan figured it out in the beginning. The others found out one day when Morita and Dernier were talking about their sweethearts. We’d all been drinking a bit. Falsworth knew I had a photo, but didn’t actually know who was in it, so he took it out of my pocket and everyone saw it. They…” Bucky looked up from the ground to meet Steve’s blue eyes. “They weren’t mad, Stevie. They were perfectly fine with it. Yeah, they tease from time to time, but they don’t actually give a damn that we’re queer.”

         Steve moved one of his hands from under Bucky’s to cup Bucky’s face. “I’m glad you’ve met such nice pals.” He whispered with a small smile. Suddenly Bucky couldn’t take it anymore: he urgently pressed his lips to Steve’s. They had hardly touched—much less kissed—in months. Steve moved his other hand to the back of Bucky’s neck.

         “I haven’t gotten a chance to test this new body out.” Bucky breathed, ripping off the top of Steve’s uniform. They quickly got each other undressed and for a few minutes they just stared at each, drinking in the sight of each other’s naked bodies for the first time since they’d both left for the war. Bucky shivered slightly, excited and also intimidated by his best guy’s new body. The thought of being inside Steve again had gotten him through some of the loneliest times in the war. But now, the thought of Steve—this new Steve—being inside him had him hard. Bucky pushed Steve back against the far wall of the barn, kissing everywhere he could.

 

 

         They came out of the barn a little less than two hours later (the serum had some wonderful side effects on Steve’s stamina). They’d taken care to put their clothes back on neatly, fixing their mussed up hair and checking one another over before exiting the privacy of the barn. Steve was trying to hide the blush on his face as they got closer to the rest of their team while Bucky held his face as neutral as possible. All of the Commandos were smiling at their superior officers, making Steve avoid eye contact and Bucky glare at his teammates.

 

* * *

 

         Down the scope of his sniper rifle, Bucky could see a small platoon of HYDRA operatives closing in behind Captain America and Jones. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, and Dernier were out of sight from Bucky, taking down one of the HYDRA base’s hell buggies. Bucky breathed out evenly with each shot, effectively killing the four HYDRA agents with four shots to the head. Jones and the Captain, turned around to see the taken down agents before both looking up to where Bucky was perched, each offering him a salute in thanks. Bucky gave Steve a tight nod before picking up his rifle and standing up to move to the next area where he’d be sniping.

         A muffled explosion sounded in the distance, followed by cheers from the other four Commandos. Shortly after they rejoined up with Steve and Jones. The HYDRA base they were invading was small—really just a little pit stop for weapons between actual bases—but still in need of being taken down nonetheless. Bucky’s job was to keep watch, sniping any HYDRA agents that showed up while the rest of the Commandos took some of the weapons in the base before blowing it up.

         It was cold, light snow dusting the ground as it fell in large flakes. Bucky could see his breath out of the corner of his eye as he scanned around through his sniper scope. He used to hate the cold: cold meant sickness for Steve. But now Bucky could actually enjoy the cold without worrying that Steve could get pneumonia. In fact, the cold didn’t even seem to affect Steve anymore; Steve’s new body was like a fucking furnace. So Bucky learned to enjoy the cold. He liked feeling his breath come out as hot steam; he loved the look of snow and how it melted on his skin; he loved seeing snowflakes in Steve’s blond hair and on his long eyelashes. Bucky liked the cold and the numbing feeling it gave him. There was still an echo of burning in his body from Zola’s experiment, but the cold dulled it to just a low roar.

         Half an hour passed. Bucky had only shot dead three HYDRA agents during that time span. Suddenly, the Commandos all came charging out of the entry of the mini-base, panting hard and with their arms full of unfamiliar weapons. All of them except Steve. Bucky felt his heart catch in his throat. He quickly did one final sweep through his scope to make sure there weren’t any more HYDRA agents before jumping down from the tree he was perched in. By now there were a few inches of snow on the ground, but not enough to slow Bucky down as he sprinted over to his fellow Commandos.

         “Where’s Steve,” Bucky demanded. Normally on the field he only referred to Steve as Captain America. But he wasn’t thinking about that right now. All he could think about was that it was his job to keep his best guy safe and out of trouble.

         Dugan shook his head, too out of breath to give a proper response. Steve was still in there. Bucky felt his blood run colder than the snow beneath his feet. His head swiveled to look at the base, waiting and praying that Steve would walk out at any moment. He started to take a step toward the entrance when a loud pop echoed through the entire forest. The Commandos grabbed Bucky by the arms, quickly dragging him a good twenty feet back. Bucky struggled, trying to get to the base—to get to Steve—until the base exploded into red and yellow. Black ash started to fall around them like the snowflakes and Bucky went completely still. Dugan still had a tight grip on Bucky’s shoulder, feeling his sergeant tremble while his gray eyes stared in horror at the fiery building.

         _Steve’s still in there_ was the only thought racing through Bucky’s mind. Bucky watched the red flames curl into black smoke. His lungs felt tight. Was this what Steve felt like right before an asthma attack? His heart was pounding in his ears, making his head spin. Bucky’s feet felt like they were made of lead. He thought he would feel numb from the cold and from the idea that Steve was gone. But he didn’t. He felt like he was on fire, too. It was that same god-awful burning sensation that had consumed him in Zola’s lab. He could literally feel the needles being injected into his muscles all over again and the burning racing through his blood vessels. Only this time, instead of attacking his head, he felt all of it in his heart and lungs. He thought he could hear a hiss with each beat of his heart. Bucky wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore. God, he sure hoped he wasn’t. He hoped he was going to die with Steve right then and there. If his feet weren’t so heavy and if Dugan didn’t have such an iron grip on his arm, Bucky would’ve run into the burning building after Steve, just to die with his best guy. _Together ‘til the end of the line_ , Bucky mused.

         The six of them waited a few minutes, hoping for their captain to walk out of the flames, but when nothing happened Dugan pulled on Bucky’s arm saying, “C’mon, Sarge. We need to get these weapons back to camp.” Bucky didn’t budge. Didn’t even acknowledge that he heard Dugan. All of them stared at Bucky sadly, trying to think of what to say. Of course all of them had lost friends on the battlefield before; this was _war._ But none of them had ever been in love with those friends. They couldn’t even wrap their heads around the idea of losing their sweethearts out here.

         Dugan opened his mouth to try and say something else, but stopped when he heard Bucky’s breath catch in his throat. Glancing up from his Sergeant’s shaking form, he saw a dark silhouette waver in the flames. As the silhouette came closer, it became clearer that it was a man holding a large round object. All of the Commandos looked up from their shuttering sergeant to see their captain stepping out from the flames. His shield and uniform were covered in black, but he appeared uninjured. Bucky’s jaw had gone slack, too disbelieving and wondering if his wish had come true and he’d died with Steve. Captain America stopped in front of his Howling Commandos, wiping some of the ash off of his face before apologizing, “Sorry, I thought I could destroy the base and still get out in time, but, uh…” He trailed off without having the correct words to say to his gaping teammates.

         The instant Dugan’s grip on Bucky relaxed, Bucky had his arms thrown around Steve’s neck and his lips pressed hard against his best guy’s. So much relief was passed from Bucky’s lips that Steve couldn’t help but sigh into his best friend’s touch and momentarily forget where they were. All that mattered to Bucky was that _Steve was safe._

         They pulled back a few moments later when Dugan politely cleared his throat. The two quickly separated, looking off to the side while their cheeks burned bright red. “We, uh, really should get these weapons back to camp.” Dugan offered.

         “Uh, right. Thanks.” Steve replied lamely. They all turned to make their way back to the camp they had set up a few miles away, Bucky and Steve falling in together in the back. At that moment, Bucky didn’t really care what the others would think; he was just happy beyond relief that Steve was okay and safe. He slid his hand into Steve’s, giving it a tight squeeze while they walked. Steve looked at Bucky with an unsure expression, but didn’t move his hand away. Dugan glanced over his shoulder at Bucky, saw him and Steve holding hands, and gave Bucky a small smile before facing front again.


	7. Chapter 7

         “Bucky!” Steve’s throat felt raw from the freezing cold wind rushing past him. “Hold on!” He couldn’t feel his hands as he climbed onto the side of the train. His hair was whipping into his eyes and his face had gone numb from the cold. But that didn’t matter. All he saw was Bucky, holding onto the side of the train for dear life, his gray-blue eyes pleading with Steve’s. Bucky’s knuckles were white from gripping so hard, his neat hair blown back away from his face. Steve stuck his hand out as far as he could manage without losing his grip on the fast-moving train. “Grab my hand!” He pleaded. His stomach lurched when the bar Bucky was holding onto groaned before dislodging itself altogether.

         And Bucky fell.

         With his hand reaching for Steve’s.

         Screaming.

         The scream was the most horrible thing Steve’s ever heard in his entire life. He could only watch in terror and shock, panting as his vision became blurry. The icy landscape below him spread out into a blur of white. Steve was about to jump after Bucky—to save him, to die with him; he didn’t know—when he heard a shout from the front of the train. Steve was momentarily knocked out of his daze, out of his grief, and ran to the front of the train where Jones had subdued the conductor and Dr. Zola.

 

* * *

 

 

         Everything was white. The sky, the ground, the icy walls surrounding him. Everything was pain. He knew that every muscle ached and every bone felt bruised. His throat was raw from screaming. His skin hurt from the wind ripping through him as he fell. His eyes stung from the bright white. His toes and fingers hurt from the cold nipping at them greedily. He was aware that his entire body was in pain. But the only pain he could think about—couldn’t _not_ think about—was from his arm. He couldn’t move it; it just burned far worse than Zola’s experiments. This was not a fire; this was something far, far worse. It was the kind of burning one felt from touching solid carbon dioxide. Only it didn’t feel like he had his hand on it—no, no, no that would be such a blessing. No, it felt like his nerves were made of the stuff. His bones, his muscles, his blood vessels. All of it, burning from the cold.

         Everything was white. The sky, the ground, the icy walls surrounding him.

         But when Bucky turned his head to look at his left arm, all he saw was red.

 

* * *

 

 

         “It wasn’t your fault.”

         “Did you read the report?”

         “Yes.”

         “Then you know that’s not true.” She almost flinched at the sound of self-loathing in his voice.

         “You did everything you could.” She assured in her velvety voice. Her eyes only held sympathy and longing to see the brave, confident man she had come to know and love. But he only stared at his drink, his third or fourth one, regret clear on his face that he couldn’t get intoxicated. He swallowed a large lump in his throat, nearly bringing tears to her eyes. “Did you believe in your friend?” Peggy asked softly, causing Steve to look up at her. She could now see the red rims around his eyes. He’d been crying. They were sunken in, too, showing his lack of sleep—even with the serum giving him more endurance. Peggy decided to press on, “Did you respect him?” She knew the answers to all of these questions, could see them right in Steve’s eyes. “Then stop blaming yourself.” Steve looked back down at his empty bottle of booze. “Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”

         Something small sparked in Steve’s eyes behind the sorrow: anger. “I’m going after Schmidt.” He declared. Peggy could see the steely look he now had, one that wouldn’t back down and wouldn’t have mercy. Honestly, it terrified her. “I’m not gonna stop until all of HYDRA is dead or captured.” Steve’s voice cracked and he couldn’t bear to meet Peggy’s eyes.

         “You won’t be alone.” Peggy promised.

         Steve felt even more self-loathing when a sprig of relief blossomed in his chest at the idea of Peggy helping him. Shyly, he looked up from his booze to her face. The adoring, confident look on her face is what grounded Steve. Her dark eyes were set on Steve and his new mission. Peggy lightly placed one of her hands on Steve’s, which had been grasping his bottle so tightly his knuckles were white.

         Steve wasn’t so sure he could live without Bucky. But he knew he could get through this last mission so long as he had Peggy by his side.

  

* * *

 

 

         They were attaching wires to his naked body. They didn’t say anything to him, or look him in the eyes. This definitely wasn’t the first time he’d gone through this process. And he’d learned that it was better for him—would be over sooner—if he just lay back against the cool metal of the chair and waited. And when the people in white coats stopped putting their hands on him and took a step back, he would clench his teeth against the mouth guard. Then the shocks were delivered and he would go numb. He would stop feeling where the freezing metal of his new arm met the flesh of his shoulder. He would stop feeling any new wounds they inflicted upon him because he was insolent and not cooperating.

         They would shock him until all of his answers to their questions—questions about who he was, where he was—were answered with “I don’t know”. After that, they injected him with something that burned its way to his core, past the numbing that the shocks had provided him with. And then his wounds started to heal faster, and his shoulder didn’t hurt anymore where it met metal. And after that, his handlers started referring to him as the Winter Soldier.

 

* * *

 

         He stood in the pale white room patiently while the men and women in white coats prepped him. They took off his clothes that were covered in blood—not his blood, but the blood from his targets. When he was naked, they carefully scrubbed his body clean with rags, staining them red. Special care was taken with his mechanical arm, and it took much longer to clean than the rest of him. After they redressed him, he was led to another room. In the center was a metal chair; one he had grown quite familiar with, while the rest of the room was filled with strange machines that he did not understand. “Mission report.” His handler demanded.

         When he was done reporting, he was walked over to the metal chair and strapped in. The restraints were tight and rubbed his against his wrists painfully. But that was irrelevant. One of the men in a white coat pushed a mouth guard into his mouth before stepping away. Wires were placed all over his body and a strap was tightened around his forehead. This all seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything except for the face of his target as he looked at her through the scope of his sniper, not a clue that she was moments away from having a bullet in her head.

         The shocks started and he went peacefully numb. He was shocked until he could no longer picture his most recent target’s face. And then everything went cold. Colder still until his eyelids grew heavy and he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

         The Winter Soldier’s mission was to kill the billionaire and his wife through a staged car accident. The child back home, his handler had decided, was of no threat. After the tan car swerved straight into a tree, the Asset leapt down from his position in the trees. He approached the vehicle to see the man was dead, blood gushing from his forehead, neck broken from the impact of the crash. His wife, however, was alive, crying hysterically. She had a blossom of red soaking through her dress on her stomach. Upon seeing the Asset she pleaded for him to help her. Little did she know that the Asset was at fault for their “accident”. Calmly, the Asset raised his gun, aimed at her bleeding stomach, and shot two times. It would make her die faster, but still look as if the crash had killed her. At first she didn’t realize what the man had done, just staring in horror at the gun in his hand. But then, she looked down at herself, one of her pale trembling hands gently touching the blood as if to test if it was real. She looked back up at the Asset, confusion and fear evident in her expression as tears began to stain her cheeks.

For good measure, the Asset shot the car, causing it to burst into flames. The woman began to scream as the flames licked at her delicate skin. The Asset disliked when his targets screamed. It made his gut twist in an inexplicable way. But that physical response to screaming was irrelevant and unnecessary, so it was ignored. When the screaming inside the burning car finally stopped, the Asset left to return to his handler.

  

* * *

 

 

The Asset had been training her for what he thought may have been a year. But he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All he knew was that they’d never kept him this long out of cryosleep. She moved faster than him, more nimble, despite the serum coursing through his veins. Her agility made her the only person ever to successfully sneak up on the Winter Soldier. And after his months of training her, she had become almost as good of an assassin as he was. They’d only spoken when they had to: when he was teaching her lessons or when they needed to communicate during a mission. Her voice was like velvet, smooth and catlike, and her Russian seemed to have a much stronger accent than his. He assumed it was because she was born and raised in Russia, but that always raised the question in his mind as to where he came from. He couldn’t remember.

Once, after a mission when they were waiting for extraction, he had asked her what her name was. He didn’t understand where such an unnecessary question had come from. It bore no importance to the mission or her training. But she still answered, “Natalia Alianovna Romanova.” She didn’t look at him when she said it, and it sounded like a mission file she’d memorized. Her calculating eyes turned to him. “What about you?”

The Asset shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

 

They were sparring now for the third time that day, just like the usual routine. It had become dangerous for any handlers to be in the room while they trained, which for whatever reason had always lifted away an unsettling tension in the Asset’s stomach. In their private training sessions such as these, the Asset had come to call Natalia by name. She did not object.

He kicked her in the stomach, sending her flying across the room. The Asset accosted her, ready to finish her like he always did, but she surprised him: when he reached out to grab her, she twisted his arm and pinned him to the wall. For someone so much smaller than himself, she had an iron grip. He struggled, writhing and twisting against her hands, but only managed to turn himself around so that he was facing her. Natalia still had his arm pinned against the wall, but she was not continuing her attack. “Why aren’t you finishing your attack?” The Asset asked in a gruff voice. Natalia only stared at him, her eyes flickering between each of his pale gray ones. The Asset suddenly became very aware of her body pressed up against his. This had happened before during their sparring, but it normally lasted mere moments. But Natalia wasn’t moving away from him. He had no concept of attractiveness, not really, but he had compared Natalia to some of the women that wore the white coats and worked for his handlers. Though he didn’t entirely understand the concept, he could at least recognize that Natalia was beautiful. Exceptionally so. And now she was pressed against him, dripping with sweat, and not moving. He could feel his body reacting in ways that would be an endangerment and inefficiency during any mission. But this was not a mission. And by the way Natalia was grinding down on him, experimentally rolling her hips into his, she understood that.

Natalia’s grip loosened on his arm and he took advantage of it to switch their positions, pinning her to the wall. He should punch her to stun her so he could keep the upper hand. Or choke her to finish her off (though in training choking was just until unconsciousness). But the way she was looking hungrily between his eyes and his lips… The Asset pressed his lips to hers harshly for reasons he didn’t understand. A small gasp escaped her lips and the Asset could feel the heat between his legs growing as his pants became increasingly tighter. He canted his hips forward, causing her to groan. This all seemed familiar, and though he didn’t have any memory or idea of what he was doing, his right hand slid into the waistline of her pants. He had done this before. But when? A few images passed behind his eyes of various women— _dames,_ he thought—looking up at him with flushed faces, completely naked. This was muscle memory.

It would be another thirty minutes until the handlers would come to get them. And when they would find Natalia and the Asset half naked up against the wall, drenched in sweat and come, they would take Natalia away and put the Asset to sleep for a long, long time.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes the Asset would see images and hear voices while he was in Cryosleep. It didn’t happen every time, but when it did, he always saw the same small man with blonde hair and blue eyes. The mysterious man was thin and sickly, with knobby knees and shoulders. His voice was deep and kind. But he always held a challenging look in his eyes, as if he ignored how small he was. Sometimes in these images, him and the blond man were in a crappy apartment. Sometimes they were at some sort of fair event, riding rides and eating ridiculous sugary treats. Occasionally they were even in a forest—the Asset recognized it as somewhere in Europe—and the small man was now a big, muscular version of his former self. In some of these images the Asset and this strange man (big or small) were kissing, sometimes doing even more than that. The worst, and most frequent, image was when the Asset was falling away from the strange man, snow and wind curling around him furiously. The Asset didn’t understand what these images meant.


	8. Chapter 8

         “You know, Nat’s right. You need to get out more.” Sam said, offering Steve a beer. They were in Sam’s house in DC, setting up for their weekly movie night. Each time was a different classic, all part of helping Steve catch up with the future. “Go on dates.” Sam continued. “Technically, you’re in your nineties, but physically you’re only in your twenties. Should take advantage of that.” Steve and Sam had had this conversation more than once. Really, it wasn’t much of a conversation: Sam nagged and Steve listened. “Man, you been outta that ice for _three years._ Have you even had sex since you’ve been out?” Steve’s silence was Sam’s answer. “Seriously? What about at least a kiss?” Steve just stared at the beer in his hand uncomfortably. “ _Seriously?_ ” Sam asked again, incredulous. Sighing, Sam sat down on the couch next to Steve, putting his hand gently on his friend’s forearm. “I’m worried about you, Steve.”

         Steve always hated this part of the conversation. He’d been living in this new, strange time for three years and he still wasn’t fully adjusted—he probably never would be. Yeah, he had Sam and Natasha—and occasionally some of the other Avengers—but they could never truly understand. They’d read about him in history books and museums, and even heard some of his stories first hand, but none of them were _there._ None of them could actually know what he was going through. Truthfully, Steve was lonely.

         He had been since Bucky fell from that train.

         Visiting Peggy helped. He tried to visit her at least once a week. Steve always brought flowers or some kind of dessert. Sometimes Peggy remembered him, clear as day. Sometimes it was the first time she’d seen him since 1945, and he had to explain to her all over again that yes, he was alive, and yes, he had not aged. But whether Peggy was having a good day or a bad day, visiting her always helped with his loneliness, just like it did back then after Bucky was gone.

         Steve tried going out, fitting in. His hair was styled shorter and spiked. He put on modern clothes--had even stopped referring out loud to clothing as "duds". When invited, he accompanied Sam to the Pictures—movie theatre—and to bars despite the fact that he still couldn’t get drunk. They went running every morning. Occasionally he’d go to the VA with Sam. From time to time, Natasha would set up a date for him. Out of politeness, he would never recline, but he never kissed his dates goodnight or asked for a second. Steve did go out. Not a lot on his own… but he did go out.

         Sam cleared his throat, causing Steve to jerk, realizing that he must have dozed off. “I’m fine, Sam. Really.” He tried; Sam didn’t look convinced. Steve threw up his hands in defeat. “Whaddya want me to do?” His Brooklyn accent always came out when he was frustrated despite the fact that he’d gotten better at concealing it the past three years.

         “You could start by taking Mindy from across the hall out to dinner.” A smooth voice rang out from across the room. Natasha closed the front door behind her, a smirk on her face when the two guys jumped at her unknown presence.

         “Nat. You’re back from Moscow?” Steve asked in greeting, hoping to divert the conversation.

         Natasha nodded. “Just got back this morning. Trail ran cold on what we were looking for.” She didn’t go into details. She also wasn’t distracted by Steve’s attempt at changing the conversation. “So are you going to ask her, or do I have to do it for you?” Steve groaned, slumping back into the couch. Sam and Natasha shared knowing looks.

         “C’mon, Steve. You can’t hold onto Peggy forever. You gotta let her go.” When Steve looked up into Sam’s dark eyes, all he saw was concern and loyalty. He knew that Sam just wanted him to be happy, but all the same, Steve just wanted to scream. Scream that it wasn’t Peggy that he missed, it was Bucky. All he wanted—all he ever wanted—was Bucky, his best guy. No one could ever replace Bucky, no matter how hard he looked; no matter what year it was—

         “Yeah, I know.” Steve complied, letting out a deep breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Forcing a small smile, Steve turned to Natasha and said, “You know Mindy has a boyfriend, right?”

         Her eyes narrowed a bit, but she didn’t miss a beat. “What about Cassandra in the front office? She’s pretty. And I don’t think she has a clue that you’re Captain America.”

         “Cassie?” Steve shook his head. “Nah, she’s a bit dense for my taste.”

         “Ronnie? The brunette we met a few weeks ago that works with the CIA? She’ll probably understand your line of work better than most girls.” Nat’s suggestion was a good one, but Steve still wasn’t interested.

         Without thinking he blurt out, “What about a guy?” Instantly, he paled, realizing his mistake. Trying to hide behind his beer, and praying not for the first time that he could get drunk, he quickly chugged down its contents. Sam nearly choked on his drink at Steve’s unexpected suggestion, coughing and spluttering. Natasha’s neutral expression was briefly compromised; her slender eyebrows had shot way up her forehead.

Steve finished his beer and felt he needed to do something with his hands as a distraction. Before he could come up with something, Sam said in a voice that was by no means angry or disgusted, “I thought that kind of thing was frowned upon in your time.”

“It was! I—I just…” _was in love with my best friend,_ Steve thought solemnly. Steve was at a lost for some excuse to make up for his outburst.

“Is this why you’re never interested in any of the girls I throw your way?” Natasha asked skeptically. Her expression had returned to neutral, but Steve had come to know her well enough to notice that she was analyzing him.

“No! No… I like dames—um, women. I'm doll dizzy, I promise; I just, uh…” Steve could feel the back of his neck starting to perspire. The beer bottle in his hands felt slick despite the fact that he was gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. He thought he was going to be sick.

“You just like guys, too.” Sam finished for his friend. Steve couldn’t bear to look up at his friends. He stared at his hands, a blush creeping up to his hairline.

Natasha’s voice was soft and understanding when she next spoke, “Okay. I’ll look for guys and girls for you to go on dates with.”

Sam smacked Steve on the shoulder, giving his friend a small shake. “Alright, this movie isn’t gonna watch itself, you know.” As Sam reached for the remote, Steve turned from his empty beer bottle to smile gratefully at his friends.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Bucky was alive._ Well, sort of. Steve wasn’t entirely sure it was Bucky anymore. But it had given Steve a spark of life that he hadn’t known could still exist within him. For the first time in over three years, Steve actually wanted to live in this strange new time if it meant he could be with Bucky. But it wasn’t that easy.

_“Bucky?”_

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

Ever since the helicarriers had fallen into the Potomac, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised, Steve had moved into Sam’s spare bedroom. It had been Sam and Natasha’s idea; a way to keep a closer eye on Steve and keep him safe. Natasha had also declined any sort of espionage that went over seas. In most of her free time, she was at Sam’s house, trying to find a trail on the Winter Soldier.

_“You’re going after him.” Sam had asked that day at the cemetery. It wasn’t a question._

_“You don’t have to come with me.”_

_“I know… When do we start?”_

Steve appreciated Sam’s loyalty and Natasha’s willingness to lend her expertise in tracking. He had no plans to tell his friends the nature of his and Bucky’s relationship. And guessing by the fact that Natasha hadn’t made some cryptic comment about it meant that they hadn’t figured it out either. Good. Steve wanted to keep it that way.

 

* * *

 

 

_James Buchanan Barnes._

_Steven Grant Rogers._

The Asset had read these names in the Smithsonian museum over and over again. He’d been there eight times since he left HYDRA and the strange images— _memories,_ he’d read somewhere—had started appearing in his head. He’d matched Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America, to the small and big blond man that had often appeared in his dreams during Cryosleep. According to the Captain America display in the Smithsonian, Sergeant James Barnes had been Steve Rogers’ best friend since childhood. The Asset shared the same face as James—“Bucky”—Barnes. When he’d confronted Captain America all those months ago and his mask had slipped, the Captain had called him Bucky. And now, the Asset had gotten several more memories back: some from before the war, and some from his time as the Winter Soldier.

But he was not Bucky Barnes.

And he was not the Winter Soldier.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m not gonna fight you. You’re my friend.” He pleaded. Bucky—the Winter Soldier—tackled Steve to the ground with a snarl. They were both still inside the falling Helicarrier._

_“You’re my mission.” His voice was cold; unfeeling. He punched Steve, splitting Steve’s lip and causing his eye to swell._

_“Then finish it. ‘Cause I’m with you to the end of the line.”_

_The Winter Soldier hesitated, fist still raised in the air, ready to punch Captain America again. His eyes were wide and terrified as memories flooded behind his vision._

_And then Steve was falling, falling,_ falling.

 

Steve sat up in his bed, panting. He was drenched in sweat and the covers were tangled around his body. A glance at his clock told him it was almost time to get up anyway. Closing his eyes briefly, Steve pictured Bucky in his mind as the Winter Soldier. Scrunching his brow, he replaced his mind’s image with that of Bucky back in his military uniform. After catching his breath, Steve stood up and headed toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sam was already sitting at the kitchen table, two glasses of water in front of him. Steve sat next to him, thanking Sam as he finished the glass in two large gulps. He set the glass down with a sigh. “Did I wake you?” Steve asked sheepishly; it wouldn’t be the first time.

Sam gave him a tired, worried smile. “You were crying out in your sleep.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

Sam waved it off. “It’s fine.” They sat in companionable silence for a while. Steve was skimming over the contents of his dream, helplessly looking for clues as to where Bucky could’ve gone after dragging Steve out of the water. If Bucky really was in there, then why would he save—“You were saying his name again in your sleep. Same nightmare?” Sam pulled Steve out of his thoughts. Steve nodded grimly. It had gotten to the point where Steve had this nightmare roughly about two times a week. For the most part, it had replaced his nightmare of Bucky falling from the train, though that nightmare still appeared from time to time. Sam gently laid his hand on Steve’s forearm, a determined look in his eyes and his mouth pressed into a tight line. “We’re gonna find him, Steve.” Was all he said.

Steve nodded because it was all he could do to keep from choking up and breaking down right then and there.

 

* * *

 

 

The Asset had been following Steve Rogers for the past month. Every morning, Steve went on a run with his friend Sam Wilson. After his shower he went to a small coffee joint near the Smithsonian and read the daily newspaper. From time to time, Steve would go to the display dedicated to him inside the Smithsonian. The Asset followed him inside, always lingering at a distance to stay inconspicuous. It was noted that Steve would spend most of his time in the Smithsonian staring and reading the display for James Buchanan Barnes. That small fact made something in the Asset’s gut twist, though he did not understand why. When Steve Rogers wasn’t called away to missions or press conferences, he spent his time walking around the city, reading, browsing the Internet, or hanging out with Sam Wilson. Sometimes Natalia Romanova—who now went by Natasha Romanoff—would stop by Sam Wilson’s home (where Steve was also staying) to watch a movie or have conversations. The Asset did not see the point to this. But he was curious as to why Steve participated in such activities, so the Asset went to multiple films at the movie theatre. He sat through romance, drama, action, and comedy. He did not understand why he erupted with uncontrollable laughter several times throughout the comedy selection. And for some unexplainable reason, the Asset desired for Steve to be sitting next to him during that movie, and could picture him laughing. It confused the Asset.

On more than one occasion the Asset crept in through the window of the room Steve was staying in during the night. The first couple of nights he did it, he simply watched from the far side of the room. But with each time he snuck in, he got closer to Steve’s heavy sleeping form until one day he was standing right above him. The Winter Soldier would’ve killed the vulnerable Captain. Barnes would’ve kissed him. The Asset did neither. He just sat on the edge of the bed and gently ran his human hand through Steve’s hair. If Steve gave the slightest indication that he was going to stir, the Asset was out the window, breathing hard with his heart beating erratically. The Asset did not understand why Steve Rogers had strange physical effects on him. Why did his chest feel tight and his head dizzy when he got that close to Steve? Why did he get an erection when he remembered more intimate memories of him and Steve? Why did he feel an intense sort of hunger when he’d caught glimpses of Steve changing before bed that one time? Why did he feel like his lips were practically vibrating with energy when his face was mere inches away from Steve’s during sleep? Why did he miss hearing Steve laugh? Why did he miss _making_ Steve laugh?

The Asset was staying in a cheap, dirty hotel room under a false name. It was down the street from the Smithsonian and the coffee shop that Steve went to. He had stolen a laptop two months ago, wiping its drive and any way for it to be traced to his location like his handlers had taught him. Most of his research into Steve and the questions he had for himself was through the Internet. The Asset had lived through more of the changes than Steve had, so he was familiar with modern technology and custom. From time to time, when watching Steve from afar or researching him on the Internet, a voice with a Brooklyn accent would speak in his head. They were things that Barnes would have said if he’d been present during the situation. Sometimes they actually managed to escape the Asset’s lips. More confused, the Asset would continue to research his strange reactions to Steve— _Stevie,_ his mind sometimes corrected him. It didn’t take him long to find answers to his questions involving the way his body and mind reacted to Steve Rogers.

According to the Internet, he was in love.

 

* * *

 

 

He still spent a majority of his time watching Steve, but now he spent some of it stealing files about himself. He read about the experiments that HYDRA had put him through, and how they’d wiped his memory over and over again. One of the files he’d stolen even had a summary of his accomplishments during World War Two, back when he was Sergeant Barnes. A lot of his memories were still jumbled, and not all of them had returned. The only thing that was certain in his mind was that he knew Steve.

He pulled the baseball cap low over his eyes as he made his way through the hospital. The sterile smell made his nose scrunch because of how it reminded him of a Cryosleep chamber. He avoided the elevator—they always had cameras—and walked the five flights of stairs. He’d picked up flowers on the way. They were vibrant and red, just as he remembered her.

He was always pleasantly surprised to find that her hospital room didn’t smell like the sterile hospital; it smelled like how he remembered her. She was lying in her hospital bed when he strode in. Her eyes instantly met his and her lips curled up at the corners, her wrinkles deepening around her eyes as she smiled. “James.” She greeted with her thick accent.

He sat beside her and took her delicate hand in his human and gloved hand. “How ya been, darling?” He flashed her that smirk that he knew Barnes used to use to charm the pants off of dames back in the day. Peggy laughed, something that still sounded like a bell to him. He understood why Steve had developed feelings for such a wonderful woman. “They treatin’ you okay in this place?” His Brooklyn accent was coming on strong, something that only happened when he was talking with her—with someone he knew from before.

“Oh, don’t worry. They treat me just wonderfully.” She assured him. He’d started visiting Peggy roughly once a week. At first it had been because he was curious as to why Steve was visiting her so often. But visiting Peggy had brought him a sense of peace as well as many memories.

Peggy was having a good day: she remembered that Steve and Bucky were alive, and she even remembered his visit to her last week. As usual, they talked about Steve. They never got bored of it. And they never ran out of things to say about the man they both loved.

Upon leaving he kissed her on the cheek and promised, “I’ll be back soon, darling.”

She laughed at his flirting and replied with a chuckle, “I look forward to it, Sergeant Barnes.” He gave her a final wink before disappearing out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve normally didn’t visit Peggy on a Wednesday because he was at the VA with Sam. However, Sam’s meetings had been canceled for the day, giving Steve ample amount of time. Upon walking into her hospital room, he immediately noticed the beautiful red flowers on the table beside her hospital bed. He was in contact with her children, and knew that their families were back home in their different corners of the country. So who were the flowers from?

Steve leaned over to kiss Peggy on the cheek before taking a seat. She smiled warmly at him. He nodded at the flowers, “Who’re those from?”

She chuckled, her eyes clear and bright. Steve could tell she was having a good day. “James brought them for me. Aren’t they lovely?” Steve had been stroking the top of her hand with his thumb, but he immediately froze when he processed what she’d just said.

“Bucky brought those for you?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, of course! He comes by about once a week, I believe.”

Steve’s mind was reeling. He felt like he was going to have an asthma attack. “How long has he been doin’ that for?”

Peggy frowned, her forehead scrunched in concentration. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Steve. I don’t remember.” The look on her face was sad, the way it always was when she couldn’t zero in on a memory.

Steve patted her hand soothingly. “It’s okay, Peggy.” He smiled warmly at her. “Did he say anything about where he was going? Or where he’s been?”

“Who?”

“Bucky.”

Peggy’s face contorted into a look of confusion and pity. She frowned, tightening her grip on Steve’s hand in a comforting way. “Steve, Bucky’s dead. He fell from the train, remember?” Steve’s face fell. “It wasn’t your fault.” She misinterpreted his sad expression as guilt. Peggy pulled Steve into a hug.


	9. Chapter 9

         Something woke him up; there was no noise. Everything was dead silent and his eyes were still adjusting in the dark, but Steve knew he wasn’t alone in his room. Slowly, he sat up while his eyes adjusted. He was just one movement away from grabbing his shield from under his bed. As his eyes accommodated, Steve saw a figure standing in front of his bedroom window. He could see the outline of someone with shoulder-length hair that was unkempt. The outline also had a rifle strapped to its back, as well as other weapons barely visible from Steve’s place on the bed. But Steve knew it was Bucky because of the slight gleam of his metal arm. “Buck?” Steve breathed. No answer. “Bucky, is everything alright?” Bucky took a few steps toward Steve, but still didn’t say anything. “Are you okay? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” And then in a lower, more considerate voice Steve asked, “Do you remember me?”

Bucky just came closer still, graceful and silent, and moved to the other side of Steve’s bed. Steve stayed perfectly still, watching Bucky only with his eyes and careful to make sure his hands were visible so as not to scare Bucky. The entire time, Bucky kept his hard, gray eyes on Steve’s blue ones, looking for signs of danger… or rejection. He slid in bed with Steve in one fluid movement. Bucky made sure to keep his metal arm away from Steve’s skin. Steve held his breath as Bucky reached out his flesh and blood hand and placed it on Steve’s bicep. Lightly, he pushed Steve back down from his upright position so he was lying on his back. Bucky scooted closer to Steve before turning Steve to lie on his side, facing away from Bucky. Cautiously, Bucky traced his hand on Steve’s bicep down to Steve’s waist. He felt Steve tense, but didn’t receive any indication that Steve was rejecting him. With less hesitation, Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist and pulled him closer. Steve released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. This was so familiar; Bucky used to hold Steve like this before the war.

Bucky let out a small sigh as he pressed his forehead in between Steve’s shoulder blades—the only actual sound Bucky had made at all. Steve tried desperately to stay awake as long as possible; tried to take in Bucky’s presence and remember every detail of how he looked, smelled, _felt._ But Steve was exhausted and it didn’t take long for his breathing to even out as he fell into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’d had since waking up in this strange new time. Bucky smiled against Steve’s back, breathing in his scent that reminded him of their small apartment in Brooklyn. That night was the first night in weeks that Bucky slept for more than three hours.

 

The next morning, it came to no surprise to Steve that Bucky was gone again. The only evidence he left behind that he’d actually been there was that the other side of the bed was still unmade and the pillow had a slight indent from Bucky’s head.

 

* * *

 

Sam couldn’t help but notice that Steve was dozing off at the kitchen table. Steve was hunched over a mug of coffee, falling asleep despite the fact that he’d drunken half of the cup and it was almost five pm. Putting a lid over the stir fry, Sam pulled out the chair next to Steve. The sound of the chair being pulled out caused Steve’s eyes to flutter open as he looked around wildly to remember where he was. His shoulders sagged and he swallowed the rest of his coffee in two big gulps. “You sleeping okay? I’ve never seen you this tired.” Sam commented. Steve’s grip tightened on the coffee mug as he shook his head. “Is it the nightmares?” Sam guessed. Steve shook his head again. It wasn’t like him to be so non-verbal. Sam had seen this type of change in behavior with the veterans he worked with all the time. Clearly, something had happened. “Does it have to do with Bucky?” Sam asked softly. It was subtle, but Sam noticed the way Steve’s mouth twitched into a tighter line. Bingo.

Sam waited patiently, knowing this wasn’t something he could coax out of Steve with questions. After a few minutes of silence, Sam was ready to get back up to check on their dinner when Steve whispered, “I saw him, Sam.” Sam straightened, making it obvious to Steve that he had his undivided attention. “He, uh, came into my room about a week ago. It was the middle of the night. He didn’t say anything; just…” Steve didn’t want to finish his sentence; didn’t want to tell Sam that he slid into bed and held Steve until he fell asleep. He didn’t want to explain that him and Bucky were together back then, and that the reason he was so determined to find his best friend was because he was still hopelessly in love with him. He didn’t want to tell Sam that the reason he hadn’t been sleeping was because he couldn’t anymore now that he remembered what it was like to sleep in Bucky’s arms. And that he didn’t even _want_ to sleep because he was waiting for Bucky to come back—something that he knew in the back of his mind was unlikely.

Sam saw the way his friend retreated back into his head and knew he was done speaking. Reassuringly, Sam placed his hand over Steve’s and said firmly, “We’re gonna find him, Steve.” Steve nodded, still thinking about Bucky’s hand around his waist.

 

* * *

 

 

Recently, movie night had come to include Natasha; but she’d moved into Tony Stark’s tower roughly three weeks ago because of how often she was away on missions. It was their third movie night without the presence of their Russian assassin friend. Sam missed her terribly: not only for her sense of humor and tasteful movie selections, but also because of her ability to pull Steve out of his head and focus on the present. Ever since Bucky had visited Steve in the middle of the night, Steve was constantly pulled away into distant memories. He left the house even less often than before, only going out on their morning jogs and to follow the occasional leads on the Winter Soldier’s whereabouts. Natasha had managed to convince Steve to help her on a mission, but she said he was distant and distracted the entire time, nearly jeopardizing the whole thing. Sam had tried pushing therapy onto Steve, but Steve refused any sort of help. He was starting to think that the only way to heal his friend was to find Bucky Barnes. Which was much easier said than done.

“So… _Roman Holiday_ or a Disney movie?” Sam said for the fourth time. Finally, Steve looked up from his trance with a “huh?” “Do you want to watch _Roman Holiday_ or a Disney movie?” Sam repeated patiently. Steve shrugged, no actual interest. Sighing with exasperation, Sam sat next to his friend. “C’mon, man. It’s movie night!” He yelled exaggeratedly, trying to hype up Steve for what was normally his favorite night—Steve loved movie night. Sam could tell Steve was back in his head again, remembering something from before he was put in ice. “What are you thinking about?” Sam tried a new tactic, hoping that maybe talking about whatever was going on in his head would give Sam an idea on how to help him.

At first, Steve seemed taken aback by the question; Sam always avoided asking Steve about the past because Steve got enough of those types of questions from fans and history buffs. His blue eyes grew distant again, and for a second Sam was afraid he was going to zone out again, before he murmured, “Bucky brought flowers to my mom’s grave every day after her funeral for a year.” Steve licked his lips and went on, “I couldn’t afford anything when I was first put in the orphanage, but I went to her grave everyday. Bucky always came with me, a bouquet in hand every damn time. He didn’t have money either; he probably stole them or somethin’. And they were always daisies—ma’s favorite.” Steve’s eyes looked wet, filling up with tears while he stared far off into a past that Sam couldn’t see—couldn’t even imagine.

A thought occurred to Sam—for not the first time—which he finally felt was maybe the right time to ask Steve about. “Steve,” he said softly. Steve turned his head to look at Sam, the lines of his mouth downturned and his eyes still wet with unshed tears. “Were you and Bucky… together?”

Steve had been dreading this question. He thought he’d flinch at it or squander to find some excuse. But instead he just felt calm; broken down and defeated. He flickered his eyes away from Sam’s, staring at the corner of the TV to watch the blinking light. “They don’t mention in the biographies that the apartment we shared only had one bedroom.” Sam’s eyebrows wrinkled; this wasn’t the response he expected. “They also don’t talk about how Bucky would keep me warm during the winter months. Or how every penny he earned went toward my medicine.” Sam could see now that Steve was shaking slightly. His breathing had turned more ragged, like he was fighting himself. Sam remained completely still, wanting Steve to keep talking as if Sam wasn’t in the room because he knew it’d be easier. “All those people that dedicated their lives to studying mine—those people that are professionals on anything Steven Grant Rogers—don’t know how stupidly in love I was with my Sergeant that gave his life to the war.” And then Steve was crying, tears finally spilt over the red rims of his eyes. He was shuddering with every gasp, something terrifying to see on such a large, strong man.

Instantly, Sam had his arms wrapped around his friend, turning Steve so that he could cry into Sam’s shirt. He was whispering things to Steve, trying to comfort him and remind him that Bucky was alive. Sam rubbed circles on Steve’s back until his breathing calmed down and his shaking stopped. Steve slowly pulled away from Sam, but kept one of his hands fisted around the bottom of Sam’s shirt like a little kid. “I’m sorry—”

Sam cut off Steve’s apology: “Don’t you dare apologize.” Steve seemed shocked at Sam’s aggressive tone. Sam’s eyes were fierce, but he said in a much lighter tone, “Don’t ever apologize for something that’s not your fault.” Sam was referring to Steve’s feelings for Bucky; to Steve’s regret at not saving his friend from falling from that train; to Steve’s sadness at being dead while the love of his life was tortured and brainwashed over and over. Steve nodded obediently. A few moments passed. Sam was worried Steve would slip back into his head, so he asked, “Did anyone else know?”

Surprisingly, a small laugh left Steve’s lips—though it didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, uh, all of the Commandos knew.” This came as a surprise to Sam. Even during his own days in the military, people hid their sexuality out of fear of losing their comrades’ respect. Sam could only imagine how much worse it was during Steve’s time. Steve saw Sam’s stifled expression; “They figured Bucky out before I became Captain America. None of them seemed to care; even stood guard on more than one occasion to let Bucky and I be alone whenever we got the opportunity.” He waited a moment, a thoughtful expression lingering on his face. “I think Peggy knew. She never said so, but she sometimes hinted at it.” Sam nodded; this one didn’t surprise him that much. Steve finally looked into Sam’s eyes again. “I did love her, you know. Maybe not in the way I did Buck… but she was my best girl and always will be.” His smile softened. “There were these other two girls that knew… They were showgirls. I told them after I caught them kissing once. I never saw them again after I left the show to lead the Howling Commandos.”

“And what about now? Who knows, I mean.”

“Just you.”

“Do you want to keep it that way?” Sam whispered.

“Yeah.” Steve said with a small nod.

“Okay.” After a moment, “Steve?” Steve looked up at his friend again. “Thanks for telling me, man.” Steve gave him a small smile before moving to grab _Roman Holiday_ off the coffee table and handing it to Sam.

 

* * *

 

 

        Bucky had kept his distance after he’d snuck into Steve’s bedroom two weeks ago. He could still smell Steve and feel him in his arms. Originally, the plan had been to skip town after that—get away so Steve could live his life as Captain America. He thought that getting a small fix of Steve would enable him to be fine without it for a while; that he could get out of town before he wanted to be near Steve again. But Bucky couldn’t leave; the thought of even trying made his stomach churn and his eyes water. In fact, he yearned for Steve even more after that night he held him. His memories were still coming back slowly and fragmented, but he understood now that James Buchanan Barnes had been more than Captain America’s best friend. He understood that gone or not, Bucky Barnes would always be in love with Steve Rogers. He knew he wasn’t really Bucky anymore, but he felt closer to Barnes than he did to the Winter Soldier, so he’d started thinking of himself as such.

         After a week and a half of trying to stay away from Steve, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He took up watching Steve again, trying to figure out when he’d get the chance to be face to face with his best friend again. Bucky couldn’t help but notice that Steve hadn’t left Sam’s home in days aside from their morning jog. Something in the back of his mind told him it was his fault—that Steve had locked himself away because Bucky had visited him two weeks ago. On the fourth day of observing Steve’s reclusiveness, Bucky swiped a flyer from the entrance of the Smithsonian Museum and put it in Sam’s mailbox (Steve always checked the mail on days that Sam was working at the VA). And sure enough, that next day Steve went to the coffee joint down the road from the museum before going into the Smithsonian itself.

         Steve definitely seemed out of it: his movements were sluggish; his hair tousled under the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes; the bags under his eyes had become almost purple and bruise-like. Completely on autopilot, Steve wandered over to the Captain America museum, shuffling through the large Saturday morning crowd and stopping in front of the display dedicated to Sergeant Bucky Barnes.

         Bucky had kept to the back of the crowd, staying at least ten people back from Steve. Now he let the momentum of the crowd push him towards where Steve stood with hunched shoulders and a frown. His eyes were blank, his entire posture vulnerable with uncaring apathy. So it didn’t surprise Bucky that he was able to slide up as close as seemed appropriate in the crowded room without Steve even noticing. Bucky’s hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a black baseball cap pulled low to shadow his face. He hadn’t shaved in days just to make his face less recognizable for this moment. “Steve,” he breathed into his ear. Steve tensed, about to turn around when he recognized Bucky’s voice, Bucky’s scent. Before he could move, Bucky whispered hurriedly, “Don’t turn around. We’re being watched.” He felt Steve relax in front of him. Steve scanned around them, noticing two different people on opposite sides of the room that were discreetly looking between Steve and the display.

         “Buck, come home with me. Or I’ll go with you. Please. I can’t take this anymore.” Steve whispered desperately. His voice was shaking, but his facial expression was still placid and calm.

         “I want to, Stevie, I do. I miss you so damn much. But we gotta get out of DC. The government is still looking for me. They think I’m still trying to kill you.” Bucky hissed back. Steve almost turned around at the familiarity of how Bucky was talking. It was _him. His Bucky._

         “Let’s go home. Sam might be able to help us.” Steve pleaded. Bucky tensed, not wanting to get anyone involved. Steve must have sensed Bucky’s tension because he said: “Don’t worry, Buck. Sam’s a friend. He knows about us. He’s been helping me try to find you since I found out you were alive.” This didn’t really comfort Bucky all that much, but his want to be with Steve again overruled any reason that existed in his head.

         He gave a tight nod before remembering that Steve couldn’t see Bucky behind him. “Okay.” He settled before whispering, “Go back to that coffee shop you like so much. Order another coffee and sit there for a good twenty minutes. Then go through the back curtain like you’re going toward the bathroom, but then go out the back door in the kitchen instead. Those agents won’t follow you that way. I’ll be waiting outside the back door.” And then Bucky was gone.

 

         Steve pretended to be reading an article on his phone while he sipped away at his coffee. In actuality, he was impatiently watching each minute change on his phone clock. One of the agents watching him remained outside, sitting at a small metal table and pretending to be on the phone. The other was sitting four tables away from Steve, reading a book. At twenty-two minutes Steve stood up from his table, careful not to look too eager. With controlled movements he turned and made his way toward the back curtain that led to the kitchen and bathroom. He purposefully left his half-emptied coffee at his table as if he were about to come right back from the bathroom to finish it. Behind the privacy of the curtain, Steve turned into the kitchen and made his way toward the back door. None of the kitchen staff seemed to notice him; they were all focused on the sandwiches and other small café foods in front of them.

         Bucky was leaning against the wall of an adjacent building when Steve walked out. He had a classic Bucky Barnes smirk on his face—the kind that charmed the pants off any girl back in the day. Steve could feel his entire body relax and felt the first real smile in _years_ creep onto his face. He strode up to Bucky, trying to hide his grin, but finding that he couldn’t. All Steve wanted to do was kiss Bucky and take him right then and there against that wall. But he knew this wasn’t completely his Bucky. He knew that the man in front of him was still healing and sorting through broken thoughts. This was something that was going to take a while and would have to be pieced back together slowly. Steve knew that until they were both whole again, Bucky would have to initiate anything so that Steve wouldn’t scare him off or awaken the Winter Soldier.

         “Ready, doll?” Bucky asked with a smirk, his gloved left hand raised palm up in offer. Steve didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded and took his best guy’s hand.

 

* * *

 

 

         Sam was sitting on the couch with several files splayed out in front of him. As he read through them, he made notes on a separate sheet of paper. He didn’t look up when Steve walked in, too consumed with his thoughts. “Sam, I need your help.” Steve said sternly. Now Sam’s head snapped up; this was the first conversation that Steve had really initiated on his own in two weeks. And it was the first time he’d asked for any sort of help. Sam’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as he took in the Winter Soldier standing beside Steve. Steve was actually glad that he was holding Bucky’s metal hand rather than his flesh one because of how tight he was squeezing. He was aware that he’d told Sam about him and Bucky and that Sam didn’t care at all (things sure were different in this century), but that didn’t change the fact that Steve was scared out of his wits about him and his best guy openly holding hands in front of someone else.

         “You found him.” Sam breathed; it wasn’t a question.

         Steve gave a tight nod, trying to relax himself. He was aware that Bucky’s eyes were tracking Sam’s movements, waiting for an attack. “We need your help.” Steve started. “Buck says we’re being watched. Need to get outta DC.”

         Sam was still for a moment, thinking. “Can I call Nat? I think she’ll know what to do.” Sam suggested. Steve felt Bucky tense and hesitated. Sam quickly added, “I won’t tell her about you two being… involved. I’ll just tell her that we found Bucky and that we’re being watched.” Steve turned to Bucky for approval on the situation. Bucky didn’t like the idea of bringing another person into this. And from his memories that had come back of Natalia… things could get complicated. But they needed out and Natalia—Natasha—was an exceptional spy and more importantly, she cared about Steve. Bucky nodded to Steve.

 

         Sam came back into the room at least twenty minutes later, tucking his phone into his pant pocket. “Nat called in a favor with Tony Stark. A car’s coming around to pick us up in half an hour. Pack everything you want to bring.” Steve and Bucky stood up from the couch where they’d been waiting in silence. “They’re moving us into Avengers Tower.” Sam said before leaving the room again to pack.

         Bruce, Clint, and Natasha already lived in Avengers Tower with Tony and Pepper. After the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D. Tony had offered Steve and even Sam a home in the Tower, having built them an entire shared floor to call home. Sam and Steve had declined, mostly because Steve wanted to stay close to Peggy and keep looking for Bucky. Steve turned to Bucky and said with a sad smile, “I guess we’re going back to New York.” He stood up to pack and was surprised to find Bucky following him.

         Bucky shut the door behind him in Steve’s room while Steve pulled out a suitcase and began to stuff it with clothes and books. “Steve, are you sure you want to do this? I—I’m not the same as I was back then. I’m not the Bucky you knew…”

         Steve stopped packing to look up at Bucky. Some of the hairs had fallen out of his bun and into his gray eyes. “I know that, Buck. It doesn’t change anything.” And then he kept packing.

 

* * *

 

 

         Before they pulled onto the highway, Steve managed to convince the driver to take them to the hospital first. There was no way he was leaving without saying goodbye to his best girl first. Sam accompanied Steve and Bucky up to Peggy’s hospital room, remaining a few feet back. He stood in the doorway once they were in her room while the two other guys strode up to her bed. Peggy must have been having a good day because she smiled at Steve and Bucky rather than being surprised they were both alive. Steve planted her a soft kiss right on the mouth and pulled up a chair to her bedside. Bucky kissed her on the cheek and said, “How ya doin’, darling?” She giggled while he took a seat.

         “You know, that’s my best girl you’re flirting with.” Steve glared at Bucky, though he had a playful tone in his voice.

         “Oh don’t flip your wig, punk. I ain’t gonna steal your girl.” Sam was taken aback by how strong Bucky’s Brooklyn accent came on. He’d only heard Steve’s a few times—usually when Steve was angry. Steve seemed to notice the change in Bucky, too, because his entire face lit up.

         Peggy also must have noticed it because she mused, “Look at you two! Together again at last.”

         Steve’s face burned red, but Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “Only took seventy damn years.”

         “So what’s the plan now?”

         Steve looked up from his blush and took Peggy’s hand in his. “Peg, we’ve gotta go for a little bit. Get outta town. The government won’t lay off us so we’re going to Avengers Tower.” Sam didn’t realize that Steve was crying until Peggy moved her hand to wipe away some of his tears.

         “It’s alright, Steve. I understand.” She said softly, her accent strong even after all of the years of living in the States.

         “You need anything, you just ask. We’re only a phone call away.” Bucky said tightly as if the way he says it will make it stay in her broken memory. Peggy nodded. Bucky stood up and gave her another kiss on the cheek before saying, “I’ll take good care of him, don’t you worry.”

         Peggy laughed, light as a bell. “I know you will; he is our best guy after all.” Steve had told Sam that he thought Peggy knew about him and Bucky but wasn’t sure. But now it was clear that Peggy did know, and that it didn’t bother her.

         A moment later, Steve stood and kissed Peggy again. He pulled away and whispered, “Thank you. For everything. I love you, Peggy.”

         “I love you too, Steve.”


	10. Chapter 10

         Like Peggy, Bucky had good days and bad days. He’d warned Steve of this when they first arrived at Avenger’s Tower, standing awkwardly in the doorway to Steve’s room while Steve unpacked. Steve had listened patiently while Bucky explained that sometimes he felt all there, while others he was confused and potentially dangerous. It would probably be even worse now that they were in a new environment. Bucky was relieved that Steve didn’t look disappointed, or like he regretted his decision in bringing Bucky with him. Instead, Steve had that stubborn, challenging expression like he did back when he was small and determined to stop some bully.

Sam and Steve shared the same floor in the Tower, but their bedrooms were on opposite ends of the hall. The spare bedroom—which had become Bucky’s bedroom—was adjacent to Steve’s room. The floor had a communal living room and kitchen and JARVIS could be accessed anywhere throughout the building just by saying its—his? —name. Steve had requested for a month’s leave from any missions to take care of Bucky. Steve hadn’t left their floor in two weeks. Sam understood the situation enough to know that it was easier on Bucky if he stayed away as much as possible, only sleeping at night in his room and occasionally bringing groceries to restock the fridge. Steve felt he’d never be able to repay Sam for his help.

Steve was asleep when he started hearing screaming through the wall of his room. In an instant, he was wide-awake, throwing the covers off and exiting his room. He swung open the door to Bucky’s room and switched on the lights. Bucky was tossing and turning violently in his bed, tangling himself in the sweat-drenched sheets. Underneath his closed eyelids, his eyes were moving back and forth wildly. His forehead was creased and his teeth were bared, clenching hard. Guttural screams and cries were piercing through Bucky’s clenched teeth. They didn’t sound human. Steve threw the covers off of his best friend and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders. Shaking him, Steve shouted, “Bucky! Buck, wake up! It ain’t real; you’re dreaming! You’re here! You’re safe!” Bucky’s eyes flew open, gray and cold and his pupils blown, completely unseeing. He was panting, his face pale and dripping in sweat. Before Steve had a chance to react, Bucky’s metal hand grabbed Steve by the neck and smashed him against the headboard, holding him in place. “Buck, it’s me! It’s Steve!” he managed to wheeze out around Bucky’s metal fingers choking him.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed before he spat out angrily, “Где я?!” Steve, not knowing any Russian aside from “mission report” and “soldier”, was unable to answer Bucky’s—the Winter Soldier’s—question. Enraged, the Winter Soldier jerked his metal arm to the side, effectively sending Steve crashing into the sidewall.

Steve was up and in a defensive position before Bucky launched himself at Steve. He nearly bit his tongue when he smacked the back of his head against the wall and the breath was knocked out of his chest by Bucky’s metal fist connecting with his sternum. Gritting his teeth to fight off dizziness, Steve managed to get out, “Bucky! You’re safe!” In response, Bucky snarled and raised his fist—his human one, thank God—and Steve’s arms flew up to block the punch. After a few punches, Steve managed to grab both of Bucky’s wrists and twist them above his head where their flailing couldn’t hurt either of them. Steve took the vulnerability to swap their positions, affectively pinning the Winter Soldier to the wall before demanding, “Солдат , отчет о миссии!” ( _Soldier, mission report!)._

The effect was instantaneous: Bucky’s entire body went slack and he stopped struggling against Steve. His face, which had been contorted into an almost feral expression, relaxed into a neutral, impassive stare. His gray eyes were staring _through_ Steve as he obeyed with an emotionless voice, “отчет миссии,” ( _mission report_ ) and began spouting various information in Russian that Steve had no hope of understanding. Letting go of Bucky’s pinned arms, Steve took a step back and waited. Steve hated when he had to call the Winter Soldier to attention; sometimes he was able to snap Bucky out of it during the fight. Seeing the Winter Soldier’s cold, blank expression unnerved Steve; it made his blood run cold and a shiver run up and down his spine repeatedly. Bucky’s voice was raspy as he finished his report, having been screaming and shouting in Russian for the past half hour. When he was finished with his report, he blinked. His pupils dilated to normal and his eyebrows scrunched as he took in his surroundings, starting to remember where he was. For the first time, he finally noticed Steve standing in front of him, only in his pajama bottoms. “Стив?” He asked warily, confused. Steve had come to recognize this word as his name.

“Yeah, pal; it’s me. It’s Steve.” He gave his confused best friend a wary smile before collapsing to sit down on the bed behind him. Bucky slid down against the wall until he was sitting with his knees bent. Placing his head in his hands, he took a few deep, ragged breaths as he calmed himself. Bucky knew he’d just hurt Steve. Steve stood up from the bed and slid down to sit next to Bucky. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and used his thumb to rub small circles. “Hey, Buck, it’s okay. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re both safe.” Steve tried to assure.

Bucky looked up from his hands. “Это не хорошо. Прости.” Steve recognized the last part as _I’m sorry._ “Прости.” Bucky repeated, his frown deepening and his gray eyes searching Steve’s face for any hint of disgust. Steve gave Bucky a sad smile, trying to display to his friend that it was nothing to worry about; everything was fine.

Steve craned his neck to see over the bed to the alarm clock on the nightstand: _5:53 am._ Sighing, he stood up and held his hand out to Bucky, “Why don’t I go make us some breakfast?” Hesitantly, Bucky took Steve’s hand with his human one and let his friend pull him up. His metal hand was curled into a fist, and was held as far away as he could manage from Steve. Tears pricked Bucky’s eyes when he noticed the fading purple hand marks on Steve’s neck, perfectly even and in sharp angles like the designers of his arm had wanted. Steve saw Bucky’s pained expression as he stared at Steve’s neck. Giving his hand a small squeeze he assured, “Really, Buck; don’t worry about it. I heal fast, remember?” Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but he gave a tight nod.

Steve sat Bucky down at the table before making some coffee. While the coffee brewed he stuck several pieces of bread in the toaster. Turning to his best friend with a smile, he asked, “Whaddya want on your toast?”

Bucky squirmed uncomfortably, trying to think of a way to respond. When he woke up speaking Russian and attacking Steve like tonight, he usually was unable to speak any other language for the rest of the day. He understood Steve, but his mouth could only release Russian. Steve knew this, but always acted like everything was normal—something Bucky highly appreciated. He looked down at his hands while Steve waited patiently for an answer. Bucky kept his head down slightly, but raised his eyes to look at Steve’s gentle blue ones. God, Bucky wanted to cry at how kind and caring Steve’s eyes were while he gave Bucky as much time as he needed on such a simple thing. Swallowing around the dry lump in his throat, Bucky pointed a finger—the human one; he’d hid his metal hand below the table—at the refrigerator, saying “сливочный сыр” as he did so. Steve nodded, giving Bucky a kind smile, before opening the refrigerator door and pulling out the tin of cream cheese. He held it up and turned to Bucky, making sure he grabbed the right thing. When Bucky nodded, Steve grinned before grabbing a butter knife from a drawer just as their slices of toast popped up.

Lathering the pieces of toast with generous amounts of cream cheese, Steve mused, “We’re getting better at this.” Bucky grunted in response. They wouldn’t have to get better at this shit if he could just be a person again in the first place. Noting his annoyed response, Steve set the plates of toast down and poured two cups of coffee. He slid into the chair next to Bucky and carefully reached for Bucky’s hand—the metal one. Bucky flinched away, his eyes wild and terrified as he stared at his best friend. Steve ignored the flinch, stubbornly grabbing Bucky’s metal hand into both of his and gently tracing the design, as if Bucky could actually feel it. “This ain’t your fault, Buck. Stop blaming yourself; everybody else has.” Bucky’s scowl softened, and after a few more moments of holding Bucky’s hand, Steve let go and growled, “Now eat your toast.”

 

 

Sam wandered into the kitchen looking for coffee and breakfast about half an hour later. Normally, Steve and Bucky got up later, allowing Sam the chance to get ready for the day and get out of the Tower before they’d woken up. Stopping in the doorway, Sam made eye contact with Steve while Bucky sipped his coffee. Steve glanced at Bucky before giving Sam an affirmative nod. Forcing himself to appear relaxed, Sam casually strode into the kitchen to appear as non-threatening as possible. Making himself a cup of coffee and pouring a bowl of cereal, he said casually, “You two are up early. Everything okay?”

Bucky snorted at the question. Ignoring his best friend, Steve replied, “Yeah, we’re okay. Just a rough night is all.”

He couldn’t help himself: Bucky responded to Steve’s comment with a sassy tone, “тяжелая ночь? Стив, я чуть не убил тебя!” ( _Rough night? Steve, I almost killed you!_ ).

Sam stared. Steve had told Sam that sometimes this happened, but Sam had never actually witnessed it in person. Quickly composing himself, Sam tried to act naturally and let out a bark of a laugh. “Geez, no matter what language it’s in, you two are always gonna bicker!” He was glad to see Bucky’s angry expression drop, one of the corners of his mouth quirking up into a small smile. He muttered a few choice words under his breath in Russian. Steve grinned; sometimes, Sam was just so much better at this stuff than him.

 

* * *

 

 

It’d been three weeks since they’d moved into the Tower. Being cooped up everyday on their floor, Steve had decided to take up drawing again. Sam had bought him a few sketchbooks as well as materials and canvases for painting. Mostly, Steve was hoping that he could jog more of Bucky’s memories by showing him sketches of the past. Sometimes it helped; other times it didn’t. Determined to help, Sam had managed to contact the Smithsonian, requesting for Captain America’s old sketchbook to be returned to its rightful owner. Of course, they willingly complied and Steve’s torn up sketchbook arrived in the mail two days later. Some of the pictures were faded and the cover was water damaged, but all of the drawings could still be made out relatively clear. Determined, Bucky went through the sketchbook every day to try and jog his memories. He’d managed to piece together a few memories in his head when he saw the sketches of Coney Island and the outside of their apartment building.

At first, Steve had shown Bucky the sketches himself, afraid of his friend moving too fast and flipping to sketches he wasn’t sure Bucky was ready for yet. But one day Steve had come into the room to find Bucky lounging on the couch, sketchbook flipped open toward the middle-back. Steve had purposefully avoided showing these sketches to Bucky; afraid of how his best friend would react. After all, he wasn’t sure how much Bucky remembered. His metal hand was fingering the top corner of the page, his gray eyes soaking in every detail of the sketch. It was a drawing of him and Steve—back when Steve was small and without the serum. Bucky’s arm was around Steve and they were both laughing at something Bucky said, Bucky grinning down at Steve. Their clothes were old and worn in the picture and the far side of Brooklyn was lightly sketched in the background. Bucky gently leafed through to the next page, his breath catching in his throat at the sketch: it was him—well, the old Bucky Barnes—in his uniform. He had enough of his memory to recognize that it was the day before he shipped out, when he’d saved Steve from another fight in an alley before taking him on a double date. His metal fingers dropped to graze over the medals drawn onto his uniform.

For the first time he looked up to Steve standing there, watching him from the other side of the room. He turned back to stare at the drawing and said slowly, “I remember this day. I remember wishing I could’ve taken you dancing instead of our dates.” Steve didn’t move; didn’t say anything. He had been wondering this entire time if Bucky remembered how involved their relationship was. He assumed Bucky did—he’d held Steve’s hand on more than one occasion since he’d come back. But they hadn’t kissed or touched in any way that couldn’t be interpreted as two friends who cared about each other. This was the first time they’d even talked about it. Bucky spoke again, barely above a whisper, “I remember missing you terribly while I was in Europe before you got there. And I remember being jealous of Peggy.” He said the last part with a small chuckle, his eyes sad and faraway. Steve moved to sit next to Bucky on the couch. Bucky leafed through a few more drawings of himself, some making his eyes light up and a smile tug at his lips.

Steve could tell Bucky looked like he was done talking for a bit, so he patted Bucky’s knee and stood up, “I’m gonna start on lunch. You need anything?” Bucky shook his head without looking up from the sketchbook.

 

 

Less than an hour later Steve came back over with a sandwich on a plate and a bowl of soup. “All right, Buck, here’s lun—” Steve stopped when he caught a glimpse of Bucky. The sketchbook had fallen to the floor, some of the pages where it was opened to now bent. Bucky was sitting up straight on the edge of the couch cushion, staring blankly ahead. His mouth was pressed into a tight line and his breathing was coming out slow and even as if he were asleep. Pieces of Bucky’s long dark hair were sticking up from lying down on the couch. “Buck?” Steve asked gently, quietly placing Bucky’s lunch down on the coffee table. As expected, Bucky was unresponsive. Sighing, Steve picked up the sketchbook and put it on the kitchen counter to exchange it for his current sketchbook. He fished a few pencils and an eraser out of a drawer before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from Bucky. To pass the time, he began sketching the Howling Commandos huddled around a fire, laughing and smoking and passing around a flask.

Steve hated these days worst of all. This was only the third time it’d happened: Bucky would go into a trance for hours as he remembered some of the tortures he went through or some of the awful things he did as the Winter Soldier. He’d regained a lot of the memories before coming to Steve, ranging from his training and shaping to his missions. He’d even remembered the time he’d killed Howard and Maria Stark. It horrified Steve that Bucky had gone through these trances on his own for months. As awful as they were to sit by and watch, Steve was glad that Bucky wasn’t alone anymore to wake up from them. The first time Steve was there when it’d happened, Bucky was sucked into a memory of being beaten and wiped over and over as he was first shaped into the Winter Soldier. Last time, Bucky had recalled his first mission where he was sent by his handlers to kill four separate government officials. Steve could only imagine what horrors were going through his best friend’s head now.

 

 

Four hours later, Steve finished the sketch of the Commandos and was halfway done drawing Natasha and Sam in their uniforms, side by side with confident smiles. Bucky hadn’t moved aside from blinking. Steve had just finished sketching Sam’s wings when he heard Bucky’s breathing change from even and smooth to shallow and rough. He snapped the sketchbook shut with his pencil still inside and quickly set it on the coffee table. Bucky’s eyes fluttered, blinking rapidly as his shoulders slumped. Steve had learned from the first time to keep a trashcan nearby and at the ready. Catching sight of it, Bucky yanked it to his lap and began to retch what little content was in his stomach. After a minute, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and placed the trashcan off to the side of him. Tears sprang from his eyes, staining his cheeks as his lips parted to let out a strangled sound. Bucky collapsed against the back of the couch, his hands flying up to his face as he let out choked sobs. Every breath sounded like it was ripping Bucky apart, racking through his chest as he cried. He curled in on himself, pulling his knees into his chest. Steve could see a purple bruise beginning to blossom around where Bucky’s metal hand gripped his lower leg. He was shaking so hard that his entire body looked blurry.

Seeing Bucky like this killed Steve. It was even worse because Steve couldn’t touch Bucky when he got like this: the first time, Steve had tried to wrap his arms around Bucky to let him cry into his shirt, but Bucky had shoved Steve off him, thrashing violently at any type of contact Steve made for the rest of the day. So Steve just had to sit there and watch his best friend fall apart. He couldn’t comfort Bucky in any way except to sit there and offer his company.

Steve stayed silently on the couch, as far from Bucky as he could manage, for at least another hour as Bucky cried. Eventually, the sobs softened to small whimpers and the shuddering slowed to the occasional tremble. Bucky looked up from where he’d hidden his face, finally releasing his grip on his lower leg to wipe away the tears under his eyes. The bruise had grown to encompass nearly a third of Bucky’s lower leg, but was already healing so that it was more green than purple. Bucky’s dark hair was disheveled, making his pale face look like that of a ghost. He had bags under his eyes. While Bucky took a few shaky breaths to steady his breathing, Steve stood up to make some tea. While the water boiled, Steve came back over to the couch to check on Bucky. Bucky had picked up Steve’s current sketchbook to look at the two new drawings. In the back of his mind, something panicked at the idea of Bucky holding a sketchbook, afraid that it could trigger another trance, but he’d found out last time that nothing in particular actually triggered Bucky to fall into memories; it was completely random.

After the tea steeped, Steve brought the two mugs over and set them both on the coffee table—Steve had learned that Bucky wouldn’t even get close enough to Steve to take a cup of tea from his hands. Reluctantly, Bucky placed the newer sketchbook on the coffee table and slid his fingers through the handle of the mug. Like the other times, Bucky had covered his metal arm with one of the couch cushions, hiding it from Steve and from himself. Despite the fact that the tea was still scolding hot, Bucky took eager sips of it, trying to give himself something to do. Steve plucked a book off the shelf they had in the corner of the room before coming back over to sit on the couch. He made sure to wedge himself as far into the corner of the couch as possible to make Bucky more comfortable. “This was your favorite book back before the war… You used to read it to me every winter when I got too sick to even hold my head up.” Steve said softly, holding up the cover for Bucky to see. _The Picture of Dorian Gray._ Bucky glanced at it nervously, not wanting to make eye contact with Steve, before staring back down at the tea in his right hand. Bucky couldn’t talk for most of the day after he came out of his trances. It usually took at least three hours until he could even look Steve in the eye or nod in response to things. And once he was able to speak again, it was usually one word at a time or simple phrases. It was only after a night of rough, nightmare-filled sleep that Bucky was able to talk again and act as if nothing had happened the day before.

Steve cleared his throat and forced a reassuring smile on his face—in case Bucky did look up while Steve was reading. Starting from where they’d left off last time, Steve picked up and began to read to his broken best friend.

 

* * *

 

 

That next morning, Steve was pleased to find that Bucky had managed to sleep in. He suspected it was out of pure exhaustion from the day before. Steve was reading the newspaper (JARVIS managed to have it sent to him every morning) while sipping his morning coffee. Bucky stood in the doorway, slightly unsure, before wandering into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup. “Anything good?” He asked, nodding his head at the newspaper.

“Nah.” Steve answered. “Just another front-page article about Tony Stark and one of his charity events.” He wanted to ask Bucky what he’d remembered yesterday, but he didn’t want to push his friend either. Bucky beat him to it, though:

“You gonna ask me about yesterday?”

Steve looked up from the newspaper. “Why would I? You’re perfectly capable of telling me whatever you want whenever you want.”

Bucky smirked, recognizing Steve’s sassy tone, though the smirk didn’t really reach his eyes. “Well, I wanna tell you about it since you’re the only mook around to listen.” Steve set the newspaper down, giving Bucky his full attention. Bucky took a deep breath, staring hard into Steve’s eyes. It was the first time Bucky had looked at Steve since yesterday morning, and the steely look in his gray eyes was enough to give Steve chills. “In 1993, my handlers took me out of Cryosleep for a small mission. I had to stage a terrorist attack to rile up Europe against the Middle East.” This didn’t sound much different than most of the missions Bucky had told Steve about. They tended to involve getting under some country’s skin and starting fights. But the small quiver in Bucky’s voice and the tortured look in his eyes told Steve that this mission must’ve been different—somehow more terrible. Bucky took another shaky breath before pushing forward, “They had me—the Winter Soldier—go to an elementary school in Sokovia. I planted a bomb in the administrative building and another one in the teacher’s lounge in the main building. I-I had orders to kill all of the teachers and as many of the k-kids as I could before I had to leave.” Steve didn’t realize he was crying until Bucky himself started crying. “I managed to drop twenty-one—” he stopped to suck in a long, shaking breath—“twenty-one kids until the authorities showed up and I had to return back to my handlers.” Tears were pouring down both of their faces now, blurring their vision as they held eye contact. Bucky was hiding his metal arm again, but at some point Steve had reached for and was holding Bucky’s flesh hand, squeezing it tighter than was healthy. “I k-killed twenty-nine teachers, Stevie. That’s twenty-nine families living without their moms and dads and brothers and sisters and daughters and sons.”

For a while, Bucky just sat there breathing hard while tears fell down his face as he stared at Steve, waiting for Steve to call him a monster, a murderer, _anything._ But Steve just stared at Bucky with sympathy and sadness—sadness that it was Bucky and not him that had to go through hell; sadness that he’d been asleep while Bucky was tortured; sadness that Bucky hadn’t died after falling from that train and had been molded into a monster against his will. Most of all, Steve felt self-loathing. He hated himself not only for not being there for his best guy through seventy years of complete hell, but also for being happy that Bucky was alive and that they were together again.

They spent the remainder of their morning holding hands and crying, the only thing keeping them both from falling apart was looking into one another’s eyes and only seeing love and acceptance.


	11. Chapter 11

         “Steve tells me you used to love to dance. I’ll have to take you to a club sometime.” Sam set the large plate of steak strips on the center of the table beside the pot of rice. Eagerly, Bucky used his fork to stab a piece of steak and drag it onto his plate, giving Steve a sly grin at having beaten him to it.

         As he scooped himself a generous serving of rice he snorted, “Like the dancing they do nowadays is the same as back then.” He passed the serving spoon to his left, to Steve, while Sam took a seat across the table from him.

         “Nah, Buck, you’re a ducky shincracker. Don’t matter what kind of dancing it is.” Steve assured; Bucky rolled his eyes.

         Sam nearly choked on the bite of steak he was currently chewing. Swallowing around the piece, he took a quick swig of his water before demanding, “What the hell is a ducky shincracker?!”

         Bucky couldn’t help it: he put down his fork and joined Sam in laughing hysterically. Steve’s face had gone red from embarrassment. After catching his breath, Bucky replied, “It means a good dancer.” Putting his hand on Steve’s forearm he reprimanded, “Jeez, Stevie, when are you gonna stop talking like a geezer and get with the twenty-first century?” The way he said it sounded critical, but there was still a grin plastered on his face. Steve frowned. Bucky bust out laughing again, smacking Steve on the arm before musing, “Relax, Stevie, I’m just bustin’ your chops. I actually miss all that old slang. Nowadays everything is just over-simplified or replaced with curse words.” He gave Steve a toothy grin and Steve’s anger cracked, making him smile down at his food as he took another bite.

         It’d been almost six weeks since they’d moved into the Tower. Bucky’s outbursts and memory trances had become much less frequent and he’d even become comfortable with Sam. In fact, Sam started spending a lot of time with the two super soldiers, showing them (mostly Steve) more things on the Internet and other stuff they’d missed in the past seventy years. He bought Bucky an iPod and downloaded the past ten years’ most popular music onto it. Bucky seemed to enjoy most of it; Steve hated most of it. Sam helped Bucky discover YouTube, which Steve had a grudge against him for because now Bucky spent a solid two hours a day surfing through the current music video hits and funny home videos. Surprisingly—or maybe not—Bucky had adjusted better to current civilization in the past six weeks than Steve had in three years. Bucky insisted it was because he’d been awake during some of it while Steve had not. Either way, it was obvious that Bucky would start being able to leave their floor of the Tower soon.

         Steve was helping himself to a third serving when there was a muffled _ding!_ It was the elevator stopping on their floor. The three of them turned to the doorway with confusion—they never had visitors for obvious reasons. Before Steve could realize what was going on, Bucky was already up in a defensive position, his eyes hard and his steak knife held expertly in his right hand. He was poised to attack.

         Natasha strode into the room, her red hair blown slightly back. Her face was neutral, as always, but she stopped in the doorway when she caught sight of Bucky. Steve was up and ready to grab Bucky and calm him down—but it was too late: Bucky was already running at Natasha with the knife. She stopped the small blade from coming down on her neck with a knife of her own—one that was much more fit for combat than Bucky’s steak knife. Her knife easily snapped Bucky’s steak knife in two. Snarling, Bucky raised his metal arm to grab at her. Sam could hear the whirring of Bucky’s mechanical arm from where he half-stood at the kitchen table. Natasha sliced the air with the blade in front of Bucky—not actually trying to hurt him, but to threaten him back. The effect was Bucky taking expert steps backward to place himself protectively in front of Steve. He was still in a low defensive position, but now he had his human arm braced against Steve as if to shield him while his metal arm was out and ready to block any advances Natasha made. Bucky was about to lunge at Natasha again, his weight shifting from his back leg to his front, metal arm extending—

         “Bucky! Stop! It’s okay!” Steve’s voice cut through all of the thoughts of attack in Bucky’s mind. He looked down, realizing for the first time that one of Steve’s hands was gripping his right arm while Steve’s other arm was wrapped around Bucky’s torso, holding him back. Bucky blinked a few times and breathed deeply to steady his racing thoughts: Steve’s okay; he’s not being threatened; everything is _fine._ He looked up from where Steve’s arm held him to the woman in front of him: it was Natalia. Confident, beautiful, and dangerous Natalia. Bucky dug his fingernails into his palm on his right hand to remind himself that Natalia— _no, Natasha—_ was Steve’s friend. In fact, he should be thanking her—not attacking her—for her help in getting him and Steve and Sam into this sweet escape.

         “I’m sorry; I just…” Bucky panted, at a loss for words. He hadn’t really recognized Natasha at first—all he saw was an intruder who could be potentially dangerous to Steve. He wasn’t sure why he’d acted so violently; this hadn’t happened with Sam. Perhaps it was because Bucky could see how lethal she was just by one glance at her: she was an assassin, poised and ready to strike at any moment’s notice. Bucky’s throat was dry; he swallowed and tried again: “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first. I-I just saw a threat.”

         Natasha gave him a tight smile, pocketing her knife. “It’s fine. My fault; I’ll call ahead next time.” Bucky nodded gratefully at her. It was the first time he’d seen her since they first arrived at the Tower six weeks ago. Steve released his grip on Bucky’s torso and right arm and took a step back. Sam stood up to grab an extra plate and set of silverware for Natasha to join them for lunch. Steve ushered Bucky to sit back down. Careful to keep her hands visible at all times, Natasha sat on the far side of Sam and began to cut her steak. Her movements were controlled and her eyes were trained on Bucky, no doubt analyzing everything about him. Bucky recognized it all too well; after all, he had been the one to train her.

         “So, Nat, what do we owe the pleasure?” Steve asked nonchalantly. Bucky could tell by Steve’s posture—the way he was leaning toward Natasha despite the fact that she was on the opposite side of the table—that he’d missed her and probably wanted to hug her. Bucky bit his lip until he’d tasted blood—he’d screwed up a reunion between two friends. He kept his head down, letting some of the loose hairs from his ponytail fall into his eyes.

         “I have a mission for you.” Natasha was always straight to the point, her voice steely and controlled. Steve quirked an eyebrow. He hadn’t been on a mission in two months. “Nothing major. But we need to get you back in the game before you lose your touch.”

         Steve laughed, his voice booming yet so gentle, “Lose my touch? Nat, I was under ice for seventy years and was still fully capable when I got out. I don’t think I _can_ lose my touch.”

         Natasha gave him a polite smile, knowing she couldn’t argue. “Either way, you’re coming on this mission, Rogers.” She leaned forward a bit. “Besides, have you even left this floor since you moved in?” She knew the answer to that, especially after Steve tightened his lips and swallowed the piece of meat he was chewing.

         Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Relax, Steve. I can stay with Bucky while you’re gone.” Sam met Bucky’s eyes with a look that said, _back me up; Steve needs this._ Bucky gave Sam a tight nod before turning to face Steve.

         “He’s right, Stevie. Sam and I will be fine. You go out and teach some people not to mess with America.” Steve let out a small laugh at Bucky’s comment.

         “Yeah, okay.” Steve nodded, giving Sam and Bucky thankful grins. He turned to Natasha, “So when do we leave?”

         “Tonight.”

 

* * *

 

         Steve had insisted on bringing a burner phone with him on the mission—just for Sam or Bucky to call in case something went wrong. Natasha had stayed for dinner, and then her and Steve had left right after that. For the past couple hours Sam and Bucky had been lounging around on the couch, watching some comedy that Bucky forgot the name of on Netflix. They watched in companionable silence, occasionally laughing and passing a bowl of popcorn between them. Bucky liked Sam; he was an easy guy to get along with, and most importantly, he was incredibly loyal to Steve. They’d become rather close in the past three weeks. Sam was patient with Bucky, and never pried anything out of him while simultaneously always being open to listen and talk. Sam worked with veterans, so he knew just the right way to approach Bucky. It was refreshing to have someone not walk around him like he was made of glass, about to break at any second. Steve treated Bucky like that—like he was too fragile. Of course, Bucky couldn’t really blame Steve; after all, he’d just attacked Natasha just for entering their floor unannounced. But still, Bucky hated being reminded of how damaged he was. So that’s why he liked Sam—because to Sam, he was just another veteran.

         The credits rolled onto the screen as the episode ended. Sam reached for the remote and paused the TV. Bucky looked up from where he’d been spacing off. “Can I ask you something?” Sam wondered, taking the bowl of popcorn from Bucky’s hands to take a handful.

         Bucky shrugged. “You got a mouth, don’t ya? Ask away.”

         Sam smirked; Bucky also liked Sam because he got Bucky’s grumpy sense of humor. “How much do you remember about you and… Steve?” Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected this question—mostly because Steve hadn’t even asked this question yet. Actually, it had been bothering Bucky a little that Steve hadn’t talked about them being together back then. He knew Steve was giving him space, not wanting to take advantage of Bucky. But something in the back of Bucky’s mind was screaming and terrified that Steve didn’t love him anymore—couldn’t love him because of the monster he’d become.

         Sam cleared his throat, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts because he’d yet to give an answer. “Um, most of it, I think.” Bucky said uncertainly, licking his lips. He remembered the first time he’d kissed Steve, and then pushing Steve away only to realize that he couldn’t keep pushing down his feelings for his best friend. He remembered the Howling Commandos finding out that he had a best guy back home, and somehow accepting him. He remembered when Steve had saved him from Zola’s table and being confused by Steve’s new appearance. He remembered testing out Steve’s new body when they were on a mission with the Commandos. Worst of all, Bucky remembered Steve’s face drifting away as he fell from that train.

         Bucky realized that Sam was staring at him, waiting for a more descriptive answer. He licked his lips again before explicating, “If you’re asking if I remember being with Steve as more than… just his best friend, then yeah, I do. Actually, I don’t think I ever really forgot.” Sam’s dark eyes were still watching him, taking in what Bucky had said. “Does Steve ever talk about us? From back then?” Bucky ventured, honestly curious.

         Sam shook his head slowly. “Not really… I didn’t even know you two were together like that until about a week before he brought you home. I think… talking about you like that is hard; I mean, it wasn’t really something he was allowed to talk about back then.”

         Bucky nodded, considering. “Yeah; you’re right. It wasn’t easy to accept either—feeling that way about each other.” Bucky’s mouth twitched into a frown. “I was drunk the first time I kissed him. The next morning, I told him it was a mistake. I knew the way I felt about Steve wasn’t the way a guy felt about his friend, but I just kept telling myself it wasn’t true. I mean, back then no one talked about being queer; so the fact that Steve and I both liked dames _and_ guys was unheard of. But nowadays there are fancy names for all types of stuff based on who people like.” Bucky shook his head. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around the idea that it’s okay for two men to be—to be _open_ —about how they feel.” Bucky turned to give Sam a sad smile. “I guess everything’s just so complicated now… I’m not even really sure Steve feels the same way anymore…”

         “Then you’re pretty blind for a sniper of your caliber.”

         Bucky’s head shot up to look at Sam. Sam’s face was contorted into a strange smile: he simultaneously looked happy and angry, like he was grinning and grimacing and glaring and admiring all at once. “What?” Bucky breathed, confused.

         Sam shook his head, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m talking about the way Steve looks at you. Before finding out that you were alive, Steve was practically a zombie. He was so unhappy and lonely living in this century. But when he found out you were alive, his whole demeanor changed. It was the first time that he actually seemed alive! I’d never seen him actually smile or laugh until I saw him with you. You made him _happy_ again, Bucky. That’s how I know he still loves you.” Bucky hadn’t realized that his eyes had watered up and the back of his throat felt raw.

         Bucky let his head fall back against the couch cushion, squeezing his eyes shut to push back the tears. He threw his metal arm over his eyes and laughed. “Jesus, loving a monster like me… That punk still has no idea what’s good for ‘em.”

         “So are you gonna tell him?” Sam’s question broke Bucky’s laughter. He removed his arm from over his eyes and just stared at the ceiling.

         “Like I said, things are so complicated now. I ain’t the same man I was before… I don’t even think I’ve kissed anyone since the late nineties…”

         “The nineties? You kissed someone in the nineties?” Sam was sitting on the edge of the couch now, staring at Bucky with wide, curious eyes.

         Bucky groaned and threw his arm back over his eyes. “This is one of those things that’s making this more complicated.”

         “How?”

         Bucky grumbled under his breath in Russian; he almost missed being treated like glass. “Back when I was being controlled by the Russians, I was assigned to train this girl. She was an exceptional assassin—almost as good as myself back then. We had some missions together. One day when we were sparring… things got intense. And well,” Bucky shrugged. “We fucked.”

         Sam’s eyebrows were knit together. “Why does that make things complicated?”

         “Because it was your friend Natasha.”

         Bucky’s eyes were still covered by his metal arm, but he could hear Sam sputtering and coughing over a mouthful of popcorn. It was only after Bucky heard the sound of Sam returning his glass of water to the coffee table that he took his arm off his eyes and sat up. Peering over at Sam’s accusing look, Bucky added, “I still have no idea how to tell Steve.”

         “Well, definitely not like that.” Sam growled, his voice sounding scratchy from having choked on popcorn. After a minute of contemplation he asked, “Have you talked to Natasha about it?”

         “I haven’t talked to Natalia— _Natasha_ ”—Bucky quickly corrected— “period. And after the way I attacked her today…” Bucky shook his head solemnly.

         “Eh, don’t worry about. Natasha’s pretty forgiving. And she probably understands more than anyone what you went through.” Sam offered. “You should probably talk to her before you talk to Steve. And you should definitely explain it to Steve before she says anything to him.”

         Bucky paled. “She wouldn’t.”

         “I don’t know, man. Nat’s unpredictable.”

 

* * *

 

 

         Steve could feel her eyes on him from across the small table. The Quinjet was getting some minor upgrades so Tony had offered them his private jet for their mission. Not the subtlest way to travel on a mission, but then again, it had stealth mode. They were both sitting across from each other, an unopened champagne bottle and two glasses on the table between them. Natasha hadn’t said a word to him once she’d finished debriefing him on the mission, and just taken to staring at him while he gazed out the plane window. For a while, he’d been too caught up in worrying about how Sam and Bucky were doing. But now, Natasha was making him nervous. Clearing his throat he turned to face her and gestured toward the bottle of champagne. “Do you want any?” He made a move to open the bottle, but she shook her head.

         “I don’t normally drink before a mission.” She supplied. Steve nodded, relaxing back into his chair. He glanced nervously between the clouds drifting past outside and the way Natasha’s eyes were searching his face for some kind of answer to some un-asked question. Steve pursed his lips, trying to think of something to say. He normally wasn’t this speechless around Natasha; but then again, she was never this quiet and calculating around him. Finally, she broke the silence, “You and James are—together.” It wasn’t really a question.

         “I, uh—no, we’re not—I mean… um, things are—” Steve took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts and his mouth to cooperate. “I don’t know what we are right now.” He said honestly, pushing out a long breath between his lips. Natasha nodded, as if this was all the answer she needed.

         “You already told Sam.” She wasn’t accusing—it was her way of telling Steve she’d already figured that much out and was just confirming it; Steve nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked lightly. She wasn’t mad; just curious.

         Steve scratched the back of his neck. “Gee, Nat, I don’t know. I didn’t even really mean to tell Sam either he just—asked about it one day.” He sucked in a breath. “I guess I was just nervous about what you guys would think… I know it’s different now; I know it’s okay for two guys to be together. But it’s just so different from back then. I guess I was just… scared.” Natasha nodded, turning Steve’s words over in her head.

         She reached for his hand across the table, stroking it lightly with her thumb and said, “He’s an easy man to love, Steve.”

         Before Steve could ask her what she meant by that, the plane was descending. Natasha grabbed some of her weapons and handed Steve his shield while they prepared for their mission.

 

* * *

 

 

         “Sirs? I’d like to inform you that Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers have returned from their mission.” A strangely robotic, yet British voice reported from the ceiling. Bucky was still having trouble grasping the concept that there was an AI— _JARVIS—_ installed throughout the entire Tower. Sam and Bucky stood up from their places at the kitchen table (it was the following afternoon) to greet Steve and Natasha at the elevator. The elevator door opened with a bright _ding!_ to reveal Steve and Natasha. Natasha remained in the elevator, giving a small smile to Sam and Bucky, before the doors closed again to take her up to her floor.

         Steve looked ragged. His shield was slung on his back and his uniform was in one piece, but his entire body was covered in soot and dirt and grime. And, if Bucky looked closely enough, some blood—though it probably didn’t belong to Steve. His blue eyes seemed darker than usual and his shoulders were sagging from exhaustion. He gave Sam and Bucky a wary smile. “How was home?” He asked hopefully.

         “Good.” Sam and Bucky replied at the same time. That caused Steve to let out a small laugh, though it didn’t entirely meet his eyes.

         “I’m gonna…” Steve pointed with his thumb toward his room.

         “Of course.” Sam said with a nod, turning to head to his own room. Bucky looked between the opposite directions, trying to figure out what he was going to do before deciding to follow Steve to his room.

         He slipped through Steve’s door just before it shut. Steve already had his shield leaned against the side of his bed and was currently pulling off his boots. He didn’t seem to notice Bucky standing awkwardly in front of the closed door until his boots were off and tossed to the side. “Oh, hey, Buck. Didn’t see you there.” Bucky didn’t say anything—just strode a few steps toward Steve until he was standing right in front of him.

         Without looking up at Steve’s face, he slowly began to unzip Steve’s jacket and asked, “How did the mission go?”

         He could feel Steve tense at the fact that Bucky was helping him out of his jacket, but he didn’t move away. “It went fine. Just tired, is all.” Steve was shrugging the jacket off his shoulders, Bucky pulling the sleeves down for him before tossing the jacket to rest by Steve’s boots. He began to help Steve out of his pants. Trying to distract himself so that his body wouldn’t do something embarrassing because of Bucky’s hands’ proximity, Steve forced out, “How was being with Sam?”

         “Good. We get along well. You’ve gotta good taste in company, pal.” Bucky replied smoothly, as if his hands weren’t mere inches from Steve’s dick.

Steve stepped out of the pant legs and kicked his pants off to the side. For a moment, they stood there awkwardly: Steve just wearing an undershirt, his boxers, and socks while Bucky just looked him up and down and bit his lip. “Um, I should probably, uh, shower now.” Steve bit out, trying to keep his face from flushing and recalling baseball scores in his head to keep the heat from gathering between his legs.

“Yeah. Good idea.” Bucky choked out before quickly spinning on his heel and practically sprinting out of the room. Bucky decided he needed a shower, too. A really, really cold one.


	12. Chapter 12

         “—not once?!”

         “No, Buck! You know I ain’t like that!”

         Sam walked into the kitchen to see Steve and Bucky standing on opposite sides of the counter, faces flushed red from their argument and teeth clenched. Both of them had their fists tight against their sides. Steve’s Brooklyn accent was coming on strong like it always did when he was angry. Shuffling up awkwardly to the far edge of the counter—far away from the two angry super soldiers—Sam interrupted, “What are you two arguing about?”

         They both snapped to turn and look at Sam and Steve shouted abruptly, “Bucky’s angry because I haven’t—” while at the same time Bucky accused, “Steve hasn’t gotten laid—”

         Sam waved his hands to stop them both from shouting. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. Take a deep breath.” Sam waited until both of the super soldiers complied before trying again, “So what happened?”

         Before Steve got the chance, Bucky pushed out, “Stevie’s been here for three years and he hasn’t had sex. His new body is a kick and with the way girls are so forward nowadays compared to back then…” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

         Sam didn’t get a chance to interject because Steve retorted, “Well, I’ve never been the kind of guy to just _sleep around,_ Buck. That was you. And I still can’t talk to dames—girls.”

         Bucky glared at Steve, looking like he was about to lunge across the table and smack Steve when a voice from the ceiling—not JARVIS—called, “Hey, Cap! I got a present for you and the other grandpa! I’m sending it up in the elevator as we speak.” It was Tony Stark. Bucky still hadn’t met him in person, mostly because he killed his parents (even though Steve had told Tony and Tony had waved it off because he knew Bucky wasn’t exactly in control back then).

         The three of them exchanged looks, the argument momentarily forgotten, before making their way out of the kitchen and down the hall to the elevator. “Thank God.” Sam muttered under his breath at the pause in the argument. The elevator doors opened with their familiar _ding!_ Before the doors could close, Steve grabbed the wrapped box and brought it back into the kitchen, Bucky and Sam trailing behind. Steve carefully set the box on the kitchen counter and turned to Sam and Bucky. “Whaddya think it is?”

         Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed past Steve. “Ain’t gonna find out by just standing there.” He began to pull away the wrapping, paying extra care with his metal hand. Moving the wrapping paper into a pile and shoving it off to the side, Bucky slowly peeled back the flaps of the box and peered inside. “Holy shit.” He breathed.

         “Buck? What is it—” Steve asked as he moved in closer to see what was inside. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw inside: it was a record player. Steve recognized it as the common model used back in the late thirties. This thing was old—almost as old as him—but somehow it was still shiny and looked brand new, as if it’d never been used.

         “Stevie, help me out.” Bucky whispered, going to one side of the box to get a good grip on the bottom of the phonograph record. Obediently, Steve moved to the other side before helping Bucky hoist the machine. They moved it over to sit on the empty shelf of the bookshelf.

         “Hey, guys, there’s more stuff in here.” Sam called as they set the phonograph record down carefully. As they made their way back to the kitchen counter, they saw Sam holding up a record, turning it over and examining it.

         Steve and Bucky each plucked records out of the side of the box, looking them over. Bucky let out a low whistle, “Stark really knows how to give a gift.” He turned the record so that Steve could see what it was. “Tommy Dorsey.” He picked up another record. “Billie Holiday.”

         Steve held up a record in each hand. “Ella Fitzgerald… Helen Forrest and Artie Shaw. Hey, you used to love Helen.” Bucky’s eyebrows shot up as he got an idea. He swiped the record from Steve’s hand (carefully, of course) and quickly slunk over to the bookshelf. He put the record on and turned to Steve, wiggling his eyebrows. Artie Shaw and Helen Forrest’s _They Say_ was starting up and Bucky couldn’t stop his hips from swaying. He sauntered over to Steve, moving in steps that his body remembered from a different lifetime. Sam was laughing with amusement; Steve’s face had flushed red and he was shaking his head, throwing his hands out in front of him to try and ward Bucky off. Bucky got up right in front of Steve and did a spin, smirking at Steve as he did so. Steve chuckled nervously, rolling his eyes and commenting, “Now you’re just being a grandstand.”

         Bucky laughed. His body felt like silk; he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Helen Forrest’s soft voice carried him like a boat at sea on a sunny day. His muscles didn’t feel tense—even his metal arm felt light as a feather. Steve was abashed, trying to push himself farther into the kitchen counter. Bucky mouthed the lyrics at Steve just to see him blush even harder: _Let them talk; let them say what they want to. If it makes them feel happy that way. I know I’ll always love you, no matter what they say._ Just as Bucky hoped, Steve looked away with embarrassment and tried to push himself deeper into the counter. “C’mon, Stevie! Cut a rug with me!” Bucky called with a grin, holding his right hand out to Steve without stopping his dance.

         Steve shook his head quickly. “No, I—Buck, I’m still a dead hoofer; no way I can dance.” He looked nervously between Bucky and Sam, his eyes pleading for Sam to help him out. Sam just smiled and shook his head, leaning back against the counter to watch with amusement.

         Bucky rolled his eyes and snatched Steve’s hand anyways. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Rogers.” Steve tried crying out in argument, but Bucky wouldn’t hear any of it. He pulled Steve into the middle of the living room, never stopping the sway of his hips as he did so. Smiling at his two super soldier friends, Sam discreetly fled the kitchen/living room, shutting the door softly behind him.

         “Bucky, I have no idea what I’m—” Steve tried to complain as Bucky danced around him.

         “Then good thing I know how to lead.” Bucky said with a sly smirk, placing his metal arm at the base of Steve’s lower back and gently pulling him closer. He took a few steps back, pulling Steve with him before moving to the side. Steve clumsily followed, but Bucky couldn’t help notice how much better he was at dancing with the serum in him. Bucky’s muscles still had enough memory to guide them through the dance, making Bucky’s nerves tingle with pure excitement. An old memory flashed behind his eyelids:

         _A small, petite blond girl throwing her head back in laughter as Bucky twirled her expertly. Bucky smiling down at her, giving her his million-dollar grin that would get her to drop her panties that night for sure. His body felt loose despite the fact that he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol that night. Dancing always made him feel free—it was his way to escape himself and become a physical extension of the music. Somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind, he had an itch because Steve was sitting off to the side, at the bar, watching Bucky and his dame dance. Like always, Bucky had begged Steve to join them on the dance floor; but, like always, Steve refused. Deep down, Bucky knew that he wanted it to be Steve holding onto him and dancing with him instead of whatever new pretty dame he had each time. He knew these thoughts weren’t okay, and that they’d probably be kicked out of the club and beaten up outside if they danced together. Two guys couldn’t cut a rug together. But Bucky wanted it so bad that his throat burned. He smiled down at the pretty blond on his arm and lowered himself to plant a kiss on her mouth. She grinned up at him, giggling—inviting him to pepper a few more kisses on her mouth and cheek while in the back of his head something screamed that Steve was watching only twenty feet away._

Bucky slowed their dancing as Artie Shaw and his band began to fade into an end to the song. A chorus started up into the next song: _I’ll never smile again… Until I smile at you. I’ll never laugh again… What good would it do?_ Frank Sinatra’s voice entered, smooth as always, accompanying Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra. Bucky pulled Steve in tighter, wrapping his arm completely around Steve’s waist, as they pressed up cheek-to-cheek. He could feel Steve’s heart hammering with their chests pressed together. Steve tried matching his erratic breathing to that of Bucky’s calm, controlled breathing. They swayed slowly, arms wrapped around each other. Steve closed his eyes, letting his best friend guide them through the slow dance while he just took in Bucky’s scent, his presence. Bucky tipped his mouth slightly up and whispered into Steve’s ear, “I’m sorry it took me so long.” Sorry it took so long to realize his feelings; sorry it took so long to get back to Steve; sorry it was taking so long to remember who he was.

         Bucky pulled back slightly to look Steve in the eye, almost getting caught up just staring into those beautiful blues. Still slightly swaying with the music, Bucky leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve’s. Their lips moved slowly together, re-familiarizing themselves. It was slow and gentle, but so much like they used to kiss. They pulled back, leaning their foreheads together to catch their breaths. With Bucky’s guidance, they finished out their dance, letting Tommy Dorsey’s woodwinds and Frank Sinatra carry them along. The record needed to be turned over to play the next couple songs, but Steve and Bucky just stayed there, holding one another with their foreheads pressed together. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t jump after you, Buck. On the train.” Steve whispered. It had been torturing Steve for years.

         Bucky raised his left hand to run his fingers down the small hairs on the back of Steve’s neck, causing Steve to shiver at the cold of the metal. “I’m glad you didn’t, Steve. I’m just sorry I didn’t die from the fall.”

         Steve brushed his lips against Bucky’s and murmured, “I love you. I know you’re not the same Bucky that fell from that train… but I still love you all the same.” A few tears had sprung loose from Steve’s eyes, slowly trailing down his face.

Bucky kissed both sides of Steve’s face, stopping the tears from falling, and whispered, “I love you, too, punk.”

 

* * *

 

They had spent most of the day cuddling on the couch and stealing kisses, watching—but not really watching—some documentaries on the wars that followed World War Two. Bucky reluctantly pointed out the wars he’d been involved in, and even admitted to helping start one of them. Steve and Bucky had been kissing lazily on the couch when Sam burst through the kitchen door, causing them to instantly leap apart to opposite sides of the couch before Sam saw anything. Setting three large boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter, Sam wandered over to the couch to see what the two super soldiers were watching. He faked a yawn before announcing, “Nat’s coming over. She’s bringing Clint.” The last part was a subtle warning for Bucky that someone new would be coming over. Bucky nodded, not peeling his eyes away from the screen while Steve got up to help Sam get out plates and beers.

A few minutes later they heard the familiar _ding!_ of the elevator and looked up just in time to see Natasha walk in. Behind her was a man that looked slightly older, with sandy hair and a neutral expression. He reminded Bucky of Natasha in the way he held himself, poised and ready to attack while seemingly calm and in control. Bucky looked away quickly when he realized that they were both staring at each other, analyzing one another as a potential threat. Switching off the TV, Bucky quickly stood to meet the guests at the doorway. He extended his hand—the flesh one—to the new person standing in their living room and offered, “Bucky Barnes. I’m, uh, Steve’s friend.”

The other man took his hand firmly, giving him a friendly smile. “Clint Barton. Friend of Nat’s.” They let go hands, and Bucky took a small step back. He was expecting this to be the awkward part, where no one would really have anything to say for a couple minutes; but Clint Barton was a natural—much more social than Natasha—and supplied, “So you must be the famous Sergeant Barnes who knew Cap way back before the war.”

Bucky was surprised he was able to laugh so naturally—probably a side effect from kissing Steve all day—and replied casually, “Yeah. Been saving his ass since the late twenties.” He heard Sam bark out a laugh behind him and Natasha snickered. He smiled politely at Clint. “So, you and Natasha are good friends?” It seemed like an easy enough conversation starter.

“Oh yeah. Nat and I go way back.” Clint said with a nod.

Natasha rolled her eyes before looking pointedly at Bucky. “James, can I talk to you?” Bucky felt a chill run down his spine at her use of his first name. The only person who called him James in this century was Peggy. He gave a curt nod before letting her lead him over to the record player on the far side of the room. She glanced at the record player, noting that it hadn’t been there before, then looked back up at Bucky with a steely look. Despite the fact that she was speaking to him in Russian, she still spoke softly: “The fact that you haven’t said anything to Steve yet means you either don’t remember, or…”

Bucky quickly picked up on what Natasha was referring to. “I haven’t told him because I thought I should talk to you first.” He hissed in Russian.

She nodded, her face neutral except for a slight glint of amusement in her eyes. “So you do remember.” It wasn’t a question, but Bucky nodded regardless. “What are you going to tell Steve?”

Bucky shrugged; he hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet. “I guess…” He trailed off, racking his brain for suggestions. He shrugged again. “Guess I’ll just tell him the truth: I trained you, things got more intimate, we had sex, then I never saw you again. Well, at least not until I came here.” Bucky had almost a bored look to him, as if this whole situation no longer seemed scary or complicated anymore. Maybe it was because he had kissed Steve. His lips were still tingling from it and he couldn’t stop sneaking quick glances at Steve across the room. He hoped no one noticed, though Sam kept smirking at him every time he caught Bucky.

Natasha cleared her throat, grabbing Bucky’s attention again. “And if he asks if there are any lingering feelings?”

Bucky frowned slightly. “Well, there aren’t so…”

Natasha sighed with relief. “Okay good. Me either.” She gave Bucky a genuine smile before returning to the kitchen counter to grab herself a slice of pizza.

 

 

Bucky was leafing through Steve’s new sketchbook while Natasha and Clint were staring intently at the screen, completely absorbed in whatever movie Sam had picked out. Steve and Sam were cleaning up the kitchen, folding up the pizza boxes and rinsing off the dishes in the sink. While Sam held open a large trash bag and Steve loaded the crushed pizza boxes into it, Sam leaned in and murmured quietly, “So did you and Bucky finally get things straightened out?” Steve froze and jerked his head up to stare at Sam, baffled. Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh please, like I don’t see the way you two have been sneaking looks all night?” Steve blushed slightly before turning back to load the pizza boxes in the bag. “So, did you two work it out?”

Loading the last of the boxes, he tied off the trash bag and straightened. “Yeah, we did.”

Sam clapped him on the arm. “You tell him you still love him?” Sam ventured, making sure Steve covered all his bases.

Steve nodded. “Kissed ‘em, too.” He added with a small smirk. Sam grinned and pulled his friend in for a hug. Pulling away, he gave Steve a congratulatory pat on the back before joining their friends on the couch.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky woke up to the sound of grunts and cries coming through the wall. He glanced at his clock: _11:13 pm._ Tossing aside the covers, Bucky stood up and shucked on a pair of pants (he got back into the habit of sleeping naked) and made his way to the room adjacent to his. It had become a regular occurrence for either him or Steve to be plagued by night terrors about once a week, and for the other to go wake up the other and comfort them until they fell asleep again. Neither of them had spent the full night in the other’s bed yet; they were still adjusting and re-familiarizing themselves with each other ever since they kissed two weeks ago.

He cracked the door open, slipping inside quietly without bothering to turn on the lights. Sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed, he gently placed his hands on Steve’s arm, lightly shaking him. “Wake up, Stevie. You’re dreaming.” He soothed. Steve groaned a little, his head jerking back and forth. Bucky pulled the covers back slightly and put his metal hand on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes flew open at the cold feeling and he bolted upright, panting and looking around in the dark wildly. “Shh, Stevie, it’s all right. You’re safe.” Bucky murmured, rubbing circles on Steve’s shoulder with his metal hand. Steve turned to stare at Bucky, catching his breath. He leaned back against the headboard and Bucky crawled fully onto the bed to sit beside his friend. “What was it about?” Bucky asked; this had become somewhat of a tradition.

Steve shut his eyes tightly. “Being in the ice.” Bucky stopped rubbing circles; this was a new one. “Most people…” Steve started, chewing his lip before trying again. “Most people think I hit the ice and was just, I don’t know, immediately unconscious or something for the next seventy years. But…” Steve trailed off, his eyes darting around wildly as if the words he was looking for would be scattered around the room. He took a long breath, his shaking making it rattle around as he inhaled—it made Bucky reflexively check his pant pocket for Steve’s inhaler. Steve exhaled slowly before continuing, “But I didn’t get knocked out right away. I felt the impact of the ice; felt every bone in my body break before immediately mending itself. It felt like I was getting bombarded with the serum all over again, except instead of being painfully hot, it was cold. So cold. Like every cell in my body was freezing over. Everything was dark and it felt like my insides were squashed and I couldn’t breathe, Buck—I couldn’t breathe! I thought I was having an asthma attack, but so much worse; and then I remembered you were dead so you couldn’t help me through my asthma attack and then that made it even harder to breathe and—”

Bucky cut off Steve’s panicking voice with an urgent kiss, hoping it’d serve as a welcomed distraction. It did. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, tugging him closer. Bucky complied, moving himself to straddle Steve’s hips. “I’m here, Stevie. Lemme take care of you.” Bucky murmured against Steve’s lips. Steve nodded and Bucky started kissing along his jaw, trailing down his neck all the while lightly sucking and biting. Steve moaned as Bucky kissed lower and lower, impatiently yanking the covers away from Steve’s body and grinding down on him. Steve gasped, inviting Bucky to roll his hips again. Bucky stripped off his pants before getting to work on Steve’s own pajama pants. Kissing his best friend hungrily on the mouth, Bucky whispered, “When was the last time we got to do it in a real bed?” Steve laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Steve?” Sam called, knocking lightly before pushing open Steve’s bedroom door. “Steve, breakfast is almost ready.” Sam padded into Steve’s room, which seemed messier than usual: pairs of pants and boxers were strewn about the room. Normally Steve’s bed was neat—even during sleep—within military regulation-like fashion. But now Steve’s comforter was completely un-tucked and half-off the bed. Sam got closer to Steve’s bed. Steve himself was barely visible under the mess of covers. “Steve?” Sam called more quietly, slightly concerned.

“Hmm?” A voice mumbled; but it wasn’t Steve. Bucky sat up slightly, the covers falling back to reveal that he was laying half on top of Steve, and probably naked. Bucky turned his sleepy gray eyes to look at Wilson, his long dark hair sticking up wildly. Sam noticed for the first time that Bucky had a dagger in his hand, held up defensively in front of him and Steve. His eyes seemed to finally register that it was Sam standing in front of him, not some intruder there to hurt Steve. Sighing, he hid the knife back under his pillow before banging softly on Steve’s bare chest with his human hand. “Hey, Rogers, Sam’s trying to talk to ya.” Steve groaned, turning his head away from Bucky. “Hey, wake up ya big lug!” Bucky yelled, more frustrated, and pinched Steve’s cheek.

Steve’s eyes flew open, and he tried to sit up except for the fact that Bucky was still mostly on top of him. He grumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily before looking up to see Sam standing there, staring at the two of them, dumbfounded. Sam seemed unable to form words anymore because this had definitely not been what he’d expected when he walked into Steve’s room to wake him up. Realizing the situation, Steve scratched the back of his head awkwardly, his blush covering every part of his body that was visible (which was most of it). “Um…” Steve tried to think of an explanation, but was unable to because Bucky was still mostly on top of him and Steve could feel his—

“We were supposed to have breakfast with the whole team today, remember? Bucky was finally going to get to leave our floor?” Sam supplied, distracting Steve.

“Oh, yeah, um right. We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Sam nodded, his face flushed, and he fled from the room as fast as he could. Bucky groaned against Steve’s chest. “You expect me to meet the rest of your teammates and keep a straight face after I just spent the night fucking their leader?” He whined incredulously.

“Hey, pal, at least you don’t have to keep a straight face when Tony makes some snide comment about me being a virgin.” Steve relented.

“Actually, I think I do have to keep a straight face. Especially seeing how _I’m the one that took your virginity_ , you crumb.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Get off me, would ya? We need to make ourselves look presentable.”

“Like we didn’t just spend last night rolling around in bed?” Bucky offered with a smirk, pressing his weight down into Steve’s chest just to be cheeky.

“That’s an order, Sergeant.” Steve growled, playfully shoving Bucky off him. Bucky cackled, making a show of bending over to grab his pants off the floor before sauntering out to his room.

 

 

Bucky tugged at the sleeve of his shirt nervously, trying to cover up his metal arm as much as possible. Him and Steve were riding up to the top floor of the Tower in the elevator, standing a good foot apart in a way that seemed appropriate for two guys who were “just best friends since childhood”. They hadn’t said much once they’d met each other in the hallway, fully clothed; just given each other a small, lingering kiss before stepping into the elevator. “So,” Bucky cleared his throat. “Who knows about… us?”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Sam. Obviously. And Nat.”

Bucky nodded, weighing the information in his head. “We should probably keep it that way.”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed. That was the extent of their conversation in the elevator because then the elevator slowed and the doors sprung open to reveal a large room with walls made of glass. Almost all of New York was visible out the windows.

Steve and Bucky stepped out of the elevator and made their way to the center of the large room where the other Avengers were seated at a large table. Between Natasha and Sam were two empty seats—for Steve and Bucky obviously. A man somewhere in his forties with black hair and well-trimmed facial hair hopped up to meet them. “Heya, Cap. Long time, no see.” The man greeted Steve, shaking his hand in a friendly way. The man turned to Bucky with a polite smile and held out his hand, “You must be the Winter Soldier. Or Sergeant Barnes.” Looking at Steve he asked, not really expecting an answer, “How does that work exactly?” Steve just rolled his eyes.

Bucky hesitantly shook the man’s hand, assessing for any sort of threat and finding none. “You must be Tony Stark.” He guessed. When they released hands Bucky turned to Steve and commented, “You’re right, Stevie: he really is a lot like Howard.” Tony Stark didn’t seem very amused by the comment, but it earned a snort from Steve.

Bucky turned when a strong arm clapped him on the shoulder. “You must be the long-lost friend of the Captain’s.” The accented voice belonging to the arm bellowed. Bucky followed the arm up to see a blond man in strange clothes—was that a cape?—smiling down at Bucky with perfect teeth. “I am Thor. Ruler of Asgard.” The large man offered.

Bucky nodded uncertainly. “Uh, Bucky Barnes.” In the background, Bucky couldn’t help but notice Sam suppressing laughter. Tony guided Thor back to the kitchen table, sitting him down.

Before Tony took a seat at the table he called to Bucky, “Oh, and this is Bruce Banner. Brilliant scientist. He also turns into a big green rage monster when he gets angry.” Bucky looked at the man Tony was gesturing at, who pushed up his glasses awkwardly before giving Bucky a small wave.

Giving the gentle looking—but apparently a not-so-gentle monster—man a small polite smile, Bucky snapped his head to look at Steve with a terrified look. “Who the hell do you associate yourself with nowadays?” Steve just laughed and scratched the back of his head, ushering Bucky to the table.

Once seated, Steve turned to Tony and asked conversationally, “Where’s Ms. Potts?”

Tony pouted, “Pepper had a meeting this morning. She should be around later, though.”

Steve nodded contemplatively before turning to Bucky and assuring quietly, “You’ll like her.”

“She taken?” Bucky wagged his eyebrows.

“Very much so.” Tony called from the end of the table, hearing their conversation. Bucky grumbled a few Russian words under his breath, causing Natasha to cover her mouth with her hand to suppress a laugh.

Tony turned to Bruce and started saying some complicated, science-y words that Bucky had no hope of understanding. Steve was talking in a low voice with Natasha while Clint was clearly trying to explain something to Thor about Earth—which Thor kept referring to as “Midgard”. This must be what a normal day for the Avengers looks like, Bucky thought. He turned to Sam, who was on his right, ready to strike up a conversation. Sam beat him to it, “You two clean up nicely.” Bucky gave him a sly grin.

He dropped his grin and made his eyes appear blank and steely, practically becoming the Winter Soldier again, before saying in a monotone voice, “A word of this to anyone and I’ll kill you.” Sam paled; quickly nodding his head before Bucky bust out laughing. Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes he said, “Should’ve seen your face!”

“Oh, ha-ha very funny.” Sam growled. “Besides, I don’t think I want to repeat what I saw.” He faked a cringe, making Bucky laugh even harder.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked, making Bucky stop laughing and whirl to look at his friend while trying to come up with an excuse. He exchanged looks with Sam and this time they _both_ started laughing, leaving Steve to look confusedly between them.

“So, grandpas. How did you like the present I sent down a couple weeks ago?” Tony asked, cutting through Sam and Bucky’s laughter.

Steve was stuttering, looking for an answer that wouldn’t give too much away, so Bucky cut in (always saving Steve’s ass), “Very nice touch. Actually got me to dance for the first time in seventy years.” Stark grinned brightly.

“What was the gift?” Bruce asked curiously. He couldn’t imagine Tony giving Steve anything that wasn’t insulting or serving as some kind of prank.

“A phonograph record. With records from our time and everything” Steve replied with a smile.

Clint gulped down a large sip of his coffee. “A record player? That’s awful nice of Tony…” He turned to look at Tony skeptically. “What do they owe you in return?”

Steve grumbled under his breath—should’ve known. Tony feigned innocence until Natasha and Bruce joined Clint in glaring. Turning to Bucky he said, “Well, I was hoping I could get a look at that arm of yours.”

Bucky chewed his lip, considering. He hadn’t had anyone look at it to see if it needed repairs or maintenance in months. And sometimes the whirring sounds it made would get louder and sound more strained. “Absolutely not.” Steve snapped, glaring at Tony heatedly. Him and Tony broke out into an argument while Bucky still skimmed over his options.

Finally, he settled his hand, evidently the metal one, on Steve’s forearm and said, “It’s fine. Needs maintenance anyways.” Giving his attention to Tony, “Just say when and where, doc.”

“Actually, he’s the doctor.” Tony shoved a thumb at Bruce, who was still giving Tony a dirty look.


	13. Chapter 13

         _He had a wicked smile, one that always made the Asset’s stomach churn because it didn’t meet his hard eyes. His voice was always soft and gentle, like he cared about the Asset more than anyone in the world. The Asset was sitting alone on the tiled floor; the men in white coats had locked him inside after he’d bashed one of their heads against the wall with his metal arm. He could hear them shouting when his handler arrived, warning his handler to stay out; that the Asset was unstable. His handler didn’t care; he wasn’t afraid of the man he controlled. Opening the metal door with an obscene scraping sound, the Asset’s handler strode in confidently. He paused in the doorway when he saw the Asset sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and his knees hugged against his chest. He heard his handler mutter something to the men just outside the room, and they reluctantly closed the door. The Asset’s handler strode over, kneeling in front of the Asset and waited patiently. The Asset leveled a look at his handler. He wasn’t supposed to speak until spoken to, but his handler was looking at him expectantly, silently giving him permission to talk. Uncertainly, the Asset whispered, “There’s this man… In my head”—_ Steve; _he was too afraid to say his name—“He’s always… He’s_ smiling _at me…” The Asset looked up from where he’d been staring at his palms, one flesh and one metal. “Who was he?” His voice trembled._

_His handler stayed silent, his teeth clenched. Through grit teeth he pushed out, “Someone you need to forget.”_

_The Asset’s forehead wrinkled and his mouth downturned into a frown. “But—But I_ can’t _forget him!” His handler stood up, but he didn’t notice because he was staring at the ground, trying to put into focus the mystery man in his dreams. “I think he was important to me—”_

_The kick to his jaw sent the Asset flying back._

_Before the Asset had a chance to react, his handler kicked him again in the stomach, causing the Asset’s stomach to lurch and for his lungs to lose any breath they were holding onto. He began to raise his metal arm to block the next kick, but then remembered he wasn’t allowed. Keeping his metal hand in a tight fist, the Asset tensed while his handler’s boot connected with the side of his head. The Asset saw black spots beginning to cloud his vision and a wave of nausea hit him. He rolled over, groaning. But his handler wasn’t done yet. Grabbing the Asset by his long hair, his handler yanked him to his feet. The Asset was too dizzy from the blow to his temple to hold himself up, his knees bending as he started sinking to the floor. His handler yanked him up again by the hair before using his other hand to punch the Asset in the stomach. After a few more punches, his handler slammed him against the back wall, finally letting go to let the Asset sink to the ground. He kicked him one more time in the stomach before exiting the room. Vaguely, the Asset heard his handler tell someone outside the doors, “Wipe him.”_

_The Asset rolled over to throw up—mostly blood—before collapsing onto his back. His vision was blurry and slowly being enveloped by darkness as three people in white coats surrounded him. All he could taste was blood and his lips felt swollen and numb as he whispered, “But I knew him.”_

         “Buck?” Steve’s voice whispered in the darkness. Bucky slowly opened his eyes and waited for them to adjust. It took him a moment to remember where he was: in Steve’s bed, in the Avengers Tower, in New York City, in the present. He had his arm around Steve’s waist, holding him in his sleep like they did back in their old apartment; but Steve was rolled over so that he was looking at Bucky, his blue eyes filled with concern. “You were crying in your sleep.” Steve murmured, reaching out one hand to wipe Bucky’s cheek. Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat and glanced at his metal hand. Steve was holding it tightly, though Bucky couldn’t really feel it.

         “I, um, just had a memory of Alexander Pierce.”

         Even with his super soldier hearing, Steve still had to strain to hear what Bucky said. His grip tightened on Bucky’s hand around his waist. A knot was forming in his stomach at just the mere mention of Pierce. Steve forced himself to relax, keeping his breath even and his voice level when he asked, “What happened?”

         A sad smile crept on Bucky’s face, barely visible in the dark. “I remembered you.” Bucky’s smile dropped. “Well, I knew your name and knew what you looked like… I didn’t really know who you were, so I asked my handl—Pierce—” Bucky corrected through grit teeth. “He told me to forget you. And when I said I couldn’t…” Bucky shook his head, not able to tell Steve that he’d been beaten half to death.

         Steve pulled Bucky into a hug and peppered his face with kisses.

 

* * *

 

 

         “So, one of the biographies I read on you says you were quite the ladies man back in the day.” Tony struck up conversation as he removed the metal plates of Bucky’s arm. They were sitting side-by-side on stools in Tony’s lab. Pieces of metal and strange machines were strung about everywhere, and the trashcan was full to the rim with empty coffee cups.

         Bucky let out a loose laugh. “Yeah, I was. What about it?”

All right, he’d bite.

         “Thought that sort of thing was frowned upon in your day.” Tony was taking a screwdriver to Bucky’s elbow.

         Bucky shrugged. “Lot of things were.”

         “But you were best friends with Cap.” Tony pointed out.

         Bucky felt heat start to rise in his chest. He forced himself to say smoothly, “So?” Shit, shit, shit; had Tony figured out—

         “So how the hell did you get away with sleeping around all the time when you had the Boy Scout as a best friend?”

         Bucky felt every nerve in his body relax. Stark hadn’t figured them out. He forced a casual shrug. “Stevie didn’t approve—he’d talk my ear off about all the bad decisions I made. But he never stopped me neither. Not even when I’d bring dames back to the apartment and keep him up all night.”

         Tony raised his eyebrows, impressed. He turned back to Bucky’s arm and started tinkering with some of the wires that were exposed. It was strange, but somehow Bucky could feel a slight tingling sensation in his fingers. “You ever settle down with anybody? Before all the shit that happened to you, I mean.”

         _Yeah: he’s got blond hair, blue eyes, used to way 95 pounds but now he’s built like a tank and throws around a shield like a Frisbee. Oh, and he’s Captain Fucking America._

         “No.” Bucky answered, digging his fingernails into the palm of his human hand, just out of sight from Stark. “What about you? You’re with this Potts lady?” Bucky implied, hoping to get the attention off him.

         Tony smirked to himself. “Yeah, Pepper is really something. She’s runs my company, helps out sometimes with the Avengers, _and_ she puts up with me.” Tony shook his head. “I have no idea how she does it.”

         “Yeah, I can’t imagine how anyone could put up with you.” Bucky retorted with a grin.

         “You should keep in mind that I currently have your arm in my custody.”

         Snorting, Bucky gazed around the lab to look for a different conversation topic. A small thought occurred to him, and before he had time to think it through he asked, “Why were you reading a biography on me, anyway?” Most people only read Captain America’s biographies, not those of the Howling Commandos.

         Stark was replacing some of the plates along Bucky’s elbow before moving on to his upper arm. Without looking up from his work, Tony murmured, “I wanted to know more about the man that killed my parents.” Stark noticed Bucky tense, and bit in, “Relax, gramps. I didn’t know back then that you weren’t really in control of yourself.”

         Bucky steeled himself up. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” He could feel tears springing to his eyes. He was about to keep apologizing—

         “None of that. I don’t do tears and sappy shit.” Bucky swung his head up to look at Stark. Pale eyes met dark ones. “I forgave you a long time ago. So stop with the apologies.” All Bucky could do was nod. He sat back and pressed out a long breath as Stark continued to work away on his arm. “Ah shit.” Bucky looked up to see Tony standing up and wiping his hands on a rag. “I’ll be right back. I need to grab something.”

         Tony passed Bruce on his way out, Bruce looking after Tony awkwardly. He noticed Bucky sitting in the middle of the lab and put on a kind smile before wandering over. “You two getting along well?” Bruce asked, pulling up a chair next to Bucky.

         Bucky shrugged. “I’d say so, considering I killed his parents.” Bruce frowned slightly.

         “I know a thing or two about not being in control.”

         Bucky raised an eyebrow at Bruce. “This have something to do with—what did Stark say?—you being a big green rage monster?”

         Bruce chuckled, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, well the other guy doesn’t really give me free reign over what he does.”

“Good thing HYDRA never got a hold of ya.” That got an actual laugh out of Bruce, making Bucky grin. Bucky felt comfortable talking with Bruce: he understood what it was like to be a monster and to do terrible things and hate himself for it.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Stark appeared again, holding some weird chunk of metal in his hand. He took his seat beside Bucky again, made a snide comment, and then got back to work on fixing up Bucky’s arm.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam and Bucky were left behind while the rest of the Avengers were on a mission to take out a HYDRA base. They’d spent most of the day trying to distract themselves with Netflix and reading files for their friends’ mission. At some point, Bucky had put on the record player, singing and dancing while he put away clean dishes. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, doing some paperwork for his job at the VA. Sam cleared his throat. “So how are things going with you and Steve?” Bucky eyed Sam with a glare, but Sam was too busy looking down at the papers in front of him to notice.

“Things aren’t exactly the same as they used to be.” Bucky said with a shrug, causing Sam to finally look up from his paperwork. “So much has changed— _we’ve_ changed. But we both still feel the same…” Bucky trailed off. He smirked at Sam and said with a wink, “And the sex is still great.” Sam rolled his eyes, pretending to gag. The songs on the record ended and an unsettling silence fell between them. Without the distractions, fear started to grip Bucky as thoughts pounded through his head. “Do you think they’re alright?” Bucky whispered, worst-case scenarios setting behind his eyelids.

“I’m sure they’re fine, man. They’re the Avengers!” Sam said cheerily, trying to calm Bucky down with pep.

Bucky shook his head. “But this is _HYDRA._ ” He countered.

“Do you want to go make sure they’re okay?” Sam asked softly. Bucky couldn’t believe what he was offering. Going against his better judgment, he nodded furiously. “Okay. Let’s go.” Sam said firmly, standing up from the counter to grab his wings from his room.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam dropped Bucky off on a hill about fifty feet above the fight. HYDRA agents were swarming the Avengers just outside the base. Iron Man was flying around, taking out HYDRA from above. Hawkeye was perched in a tree shooting arrows from above to cover Black Widow as she took down agents in hand-to-hand combat. Captain America and Thor were fighting side-by-side, occasionally using a shockwave from Thor hitting his hammer on the Captain’s shield to send agents propelling back. They were too caught up to notice new agents pooling out of the HYDRA base, circling behind Captain America as Thor took out several of the agents in front of them. Bucky peered down the scope of his rifle, shooting each of the agents in the head before they could get within ten feet of Captain America. Just like old times. Steve didn’t even seem to notice the enemies that had just been taken out behind him. Bucky saw him shout something to his teammates before disappearing inside the HYDRA base. It looked like the rest of the Avengers were too preoccupied to follow him. “Shit,” Bucky hissed under his breath. He sprinted down the hill to follow his Captain into the HYDRA base.

After taking out the guards in the hallway, Steve made his way into the main room of the small building. Weapons were lined on the walls and computers and other machines occupied the tables. In the middle of the room was a metal chair surrounded by familiar machines. Steve recognized them instantly: it was the machine HYDRA had used to wipe Bucky’s memories. The machine, thankfully, was collecting dust; it obviously hadn’t been used in a while. He was aware of the HYDRA agents surrounding him, pointing guns at him and about to attack. But he couldn’t stop glaring at the metal chair. This was one of the horrors that had been used on his best guy. Before the agents got a chance to get a shot in, Steve threw his shield full force at the chair and the machines around it. It made a satisfying crashing sound, followed by wires hissing, before ricocheting back into Steve’s open hand. The HYDRA agents began to open fire, but Steve was already launching his shield at the machines again, this time completely destroying them.

Bucky shot two agents in the head before tackling the third—just in time to knock the agent’s aim off of Steve. With his metal hand, Bucky snapped the agent’s neck. Steve’s shield had found its way back to his hand and he turned to stare at Bucky, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?” Steve started to say before Bucky pulled out a pistol and shot right over Steve’s shoulder, effectively killing the HYDRA agent about to stab Steve in the back of the neck. Peering over his shoulder, Steve said in a daze, “Um, thanks.”

“Thank me later.” Bucky said harshly, moving his metal arm to block one of the HYDRA agents. That seemed to snap Steve out of his daze because he started slamming his shield against some of the agents that’d swarmed into the room.

 

* * *

 

 

They returned to the Tower later that evening, all looking worse for wear. Clint had been grazed by a bullet on his arm; Natasha dutifully remaining by his side after bandaging his wound. Bruce seemed shaken up after hulking out, though Thor tried cheering him up with jokes that no one understood. The ride back to the Tower in the Quinjet had been quiet for Bucky: with Sam sleeping, Natasha tending to Barton, and Steve for whatever reason not talking to him, Bucky didn’t feel comfortable enough to strike up conversation with anyone else.

They arrived on the top floor of the Tower and everyone poured into the rec room and immediately found a place on the couch except for Steve and Bucky. Steve felt exhausted and numb, but a sudden surge of anger swelled in his chest. Bucky stared hungrily at one of the open chairs, wanting nothing more than to let his legs rest. He was about to sit down when he heard Steve growl behind him, “What the hell were you thinking?”

He spun around to face his best friend, a look of confusion and betrayal plastered on his face. “Whaddya mean?” He asked slowly.

“I mean, why were you there?” Steve asked angrily. His raised voice had caught the attention of the rest of the Avengers, who all sat still on the couch and chairs.

“Saving your ass, apparently.” Bucky spat back. He felt his blood start to boil. He didn’t understand why Steve was so mad with him.

“I don’t need your protection anymore, Buck! I’m not some scrawny little kid with asthma anymore!” Steve shouted defensively. Bucky felt his fists clench, his metal arm whirring like it was preparing for a fight. They were in each other’s faces now. Bucky could feel Steve’s angry huffs of breath; could see the vein popping out the side of his neck.

“I don’t see what you’re busting my chops for! I had your back—same as always!”

“I don’t want you to have my back if it means I might lose you again!” Steve screamed. They were both completely red-faced. The other Avengers sat quietly, listening intently as the fight fanned out before them. Aside from Sam and Natasha, none of them had ever heard Steve’s Brooklyn accent. Really, none of them had ever even seen him raise his voice. It had them all cringing a little, terribly uncomfortable and unsure of what to do.

Bucky seemed taken aback. “Lose me again?” he called in disbelief, no longer shouting.

“I don’t have some plane that I can crash to save the day again, Buck.” Steve’s voice cracked. It was hard to tell from their position on the couch, but the other Avengers could’ve sworn they saw his eyes watering up. “I can’t find some excuse to die three days after you’re gone. This world might be different, but I’ve sworn to protect it.” Steve’s voice lowered. “But if I lost you again… Buck, I—I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live without you back then and I sure as hell can’t do it now.”

Bucky closed the distance between them in one stride. He cupped Steve’s face in his hands and pulled him to his lips. Tears poured down Steve’s face as they kissed, and his hands flew up to cover Bucky’s on his face. Bucky pulled away, staring firmly into Steve’s blue eyes. With a measurement of force and affection, Bucky confirmed, “I’m not going anywhere, punk.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sam and Natasha had managed to clear the Avengers out of the room to give Steve and Bucky their privacy. They were all sitting at the large bar in the room down the hall from the rec room, Clint pouring some drinks while Tony paced back and forth. Tony ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time before stopping and turning to his team. “Is anyone else completely thrown off by this? Like, did I miss something? Or has Cap always been gay?”

“He’s actually bi.” Sam interjected. Tony spun on him.

“Wait, you knew?” Tony accused; Sam shrugged. “Of course you did. And I’m sure Natasha knew, too.” Natasha smirked. Tony threw his hands up in frustration.

“So, what? They’ve been romantically involved since way back when?” Clint asked, trying to piece everything together in his head.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Sam replied. Clint let out a whistle.

“I do not see what the problem is here. On Asgard, it’s common to share intimate feelings with a brother in arms.” Thor bellowed. Clint and Tony looked at Thor with scrunched expressions.

Tony shook his head again, still sorting through his confusion. “So no one else is weirded out that Cap was—was—” he seemed at a loss for words.

“Getting fresh with his Sergeant?” Steve offers, walking into the room with Bucky in tow. He held a challenging look in his eyes—the one that Bucky recognized all too well and made him duck his head to hide his blush.

Tony whirled on Bucky. “I thought you used to bring girls home all the time.” He accused.

Bucky grinned. “I did. That was before I got my head outta my ass and told Stevie how I felt about ‘em.”

Tony turned to Steve, his face red. “After all those times I teased you about saying a virgin—”

“I never agreed with you.” Steve pointed out. Bucky laughed beside him.

Before Stark could make another absurd comment, Bruce finally spoke up, “So, this has practically been a love story that spanned eighty years?”

“Yup.”

“Pretty much.”


End file.
